Attempted Witness Protection
by ButtonMashr
Summary: Story two: sequel to Beggars Can't Be Choosers (AU): Four months later, Jughead is less hostage than missing person. Things are cooling off for some - while others are fighting to keep hope alive. With Brand running things in one city, a candle still burning in Riverdale (and on the modern equivalent of milk cartons, far and wide), and one OC go-between... Criminal life beckons.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh man, I started a sequel. This just got real.**

** Here's what you may want to know up front: the prequel is my story "Beggars Can't Be Choosers," and this story maybe kinda sorta stands alone - but is so far A/U at this point that I do recommend you check out the prequel if you want it all to hang together and make good sense. _In medias res_ is no joke, though I try to sketch in a lot of details and embed reminders here and there as the plot unfolds (please drop me a review if you want more of that and I'll do my best to oblige - I'm admittedly close enough to the trees to be blind to the forest!). **

**Also, in the spirit of _Riverdale_, the plot is just ever so slightly complicated. :) **

**This story is already taking me for a ride - please review if you're enjoying, and let me know your thoughts. It's great being back on here with you all!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Jughead almost felt sorry for them; Brand was clearly losing patience, and he'd rejected clients for less. The teenager adjusted his position lithely and silently on his bed and turned a page in his book. He hoped the no-computers ban would be lifted soon, but in the meantime Brandon had been generous with a bookstore allowance and Jughead had enjoyed annotating the pages of physical books as a change from his habit of reading primarily digital text.

His stacks of paperbacks adorned the room on shelves Brand had taught him to make for himself after the third time he'd been called upon to build them for his ward, and Jughead had begun penning some of his favorite lines from the books onto the plain wallpaper. Owning their own place had its perks, and Brand had encouraged him to pursue his interests in creative ways while he missed the school year and they both kept their heads down for the time being. Jughead would need a GED at some point, and with his dream of double-majoring in mechanical engineering and English, he'd need a strong background to get into a program, let alone keep up with college classes. His math textbooks and workbooks were as worn as his favorite novels, something he'd never imagined becoming a reality - but Brand had been a surprisingly able tutor. The military liked their math, it seemed.

Sweeping his hair back from his eyes, Jughead set his book down for a moment to revisit an unrelated internal debate: haircut or replacement for his beanie. His hair was getting long enough that he was starting to be irritated by it curling around his neck in the back and obscuring his eyes if he didn't tie it back in a small ponytail that made him feel like Johnny Tremain.

Brand had offered to take him to get his hair buzzed off when they'd first left town, but Jughead had opted for temporary dye instead and gone dark blond for a month or two - and now his hair was back to its normal color, but long enough for him to become unrecognizable when he adopted some of the mannerisms Brand had taught him for becoming all but invisible, in case they did (miracle of miracles) run into anyone who knew them and might be traveling here in Toronto.

Mexico had been another lie. A 'precaution,' Jughead reminded himself, in case anything had gone wrong and they got separated.

If he hadn't fallen asleep almost immediately after they had reached the highway after his harrowing, near-fatal all-nighter the previous fall, Jughead would have known right away that they were heading in the wrong direction. He'd been kidnapped by thugs, though, and forced to stay awake all night in a barely successful attempt to escape being murdered when the kidnappers had ultimately realized he was more dangerous than valuable to them.

'A trend,' Jughead thought darkly. He didn't resist or try to get around the computer and phone ban because he knew it would be too tempting to check in on other people to whom he was more dangerous than valuable. All of the people he'd left behind.

Brand insisted that they had accidentally faked their deaths when the kidnappers burned down the trailer to cover their tracks, so Jughead tried to take comfort in the fact that everyone had a clean break and had no doubt begun to move on without him.

It was a cold, weak comfort. It did not help that he was not permitted to make friends in Toronto, but Jughead had always been a loner. He'd had time to rediscover those habits over the last four months.

"Jones?" Brand knocked on Jughead's door. "The meeting's over. You can come out. Want to order pizza?"

This had been a serious improvement since leaving Riverdale: Brand's clientele had become significantly more white collar, and his income had swelled to match. While Jughead continued to stay out of sight and silent during all in-person meetings, his modus operandi with Brand had become tenable since they'd fought side by side to get out of Riverdale in one piece. Their pact to work and live together until Jughead made it to college had somehow survived their violent, terrifying weeks of living together in Riverdale.

"I'll go pick it up," Jughead offered. "Croissants for tomorrow, too?"

Brand peeled fifty bucks out of his wallet and handed it to Jughead. "Only if you go to the bookstore first and don't come back for at least an hour. You've got a fresh graffiti look about you."

"That's not Shakespeare," Jughead gave the expected response to their inside joke with a smirk.

"How will you be sure if you don't go to the bookstore?" Brand nudged Jughead toward the door. "Don't come back for an hour or I'm grounding you."

"Ha," Jughead left their row house, wondering yet again how Brand managed to read his mood so accurately. FP had never bothered, and it had always been easy enough for Jughead to project what he wanted to anyone else in his life, at least for the most part. His claustrophobic mood had obviously not gone unnoticed, though.

He turned in the direction of the bookstore, which was just a few blocks from the best pizza restaurant. He'd get croissants in the morning with the change, he decided, so he could hit his favorite patisserie.

The brief, chilly walk in the March air perked Jughead up after a full day of reading in his room. He felt downright cheerful when he pushed the jingling door open to the large bookstore and made a beeline for the nonfiction. His eyes immediately caught a new title by a favorite author and he was reaching for it before he even made it fully into that section of the store.

"Whoa, good book much?"

Jughead opened the book and began hungrily skimming the description before he realized that someone had spoken to him.

"What?" Jughead looked up toward the voice, through the sheet of dark hair that had begun plaguing him. He pushed his hair back to get a better look at the teenaged girl holding a stack of books. "Uh, yeah."

"Better than Capote?" She was muscular and looked like she might have a chip on her shoulder based on the patches plastered on her backpack - but Jughead could tell in a glance that she was too clean-cut to be in a gang or into any real trouble. She had the air of someone who had it together. Someone who had a future.

"Nobody's better than Capote," Jughead smirked. He turned back to the bookshelf.

"You're American," the girl hadn't taken the hint and moved on. "New England?"

"No," Jughead figured that was debatable, so it wasn't really a lie, but his 'spidey senses' were going off hardcore all of a sudden. He didn't look up as he answered. "American, but more all around. Now I'm from here."

"I'm from upstate New York," she kept talking to him. "Divorce, and my dad's discovering his Canadian roots all over again. Lucky me, getting to spend breaks and long weekends in another country."

"Yep." Jughead hoped his tone discouraged her further. Something vaguely echoed in his mind about there being a type of girl who liked jerk guys, though. He found himself reassessing his own approach when she still didn't move away.

"I need American friends here to stay sane. And you can totally help me with this school project on crime writing. You obviously know what you're doing."

"Nope," Jughead considered what responses might make him seem more 'boring' than 'challenging' or 'complex' to this girl. "I have to study for a math competition."

"And you're smart!" She lit up still further. "I always have a sense about people. This is fate. So totally fate. Where do you live?"

Jughead put the book back on the shelf. He wanted it in the worst way, but he was suddenly getting spooked by this conversation. "Hey, I gotta go. Good luck with…"

Spinning on his heel and leaving his poorly thought out sentence unfinished, Jughead left the bookstore abruptly. He found himself breathing quickly and switched to breathing deeply and slowly through his nose. In the aftermath of leaving Riverdale he'd mastered a lot of techniques for stopping a panic attack before it really got started.

He stood in front of the bookstore, debating whether to get the pizza or just turn tail and head back to the house. When he realized the pizza was in the opposite direction from Brand, he made the decision to get food - and hopefully throw any watching, intrusive people off the trail if they had any ideas about tracking him down later.

**00000**

"That's it; you're grounded," Brand greeted Jughead when he returned with the pizza just forty minutes after leaving. "You need to get out more. You're going to get rickets."

"That does not come from a vitamin D deficiency," Jughead shot back.

"Au contraire, college wannabe," Brandon opened one of the pizza boxes. They were big believers in leftovers, and two large pizzas was their typical order. "You can't actually get it by staying indoors, though. Google it."

They both froze for a moment.

"Or... get the encyclopedias out and you'll see what I'm talking about," Brand amended. They might be the last household in Toronto with a full set in hard copy. "Give me two more months, okay?"

"Two more months?" Jughead had thought they were nearly done with the internet ban. "It's already been nearly four!"

"It's not easy staying dead if you have an online presence."

"I'm not going to… _Instagram_!" Jughead hadn't realized how frustrated he'd become with being cut off from the wider world until this moment. He eyed Brand's body language, though, and painful experience told him not to push the issue any further right now. They hadn't argued much since leaving Riverdale, and Jughead didn't want to find out if their new relationship included fighting fair or not. He was too afraid the answer would be 'or not.' "Maybe I will go to the bookstore," Jughead offered quickly. "I'm… not as hungry as I thought. There's a new book."

"Okay," Brand eyed him warily in return. "Be back within an hour this time, though. It's getting late."

"Yeah, okay," Jughead agreed absently. He pocketed the cash he'd set on the counter and left the row house a second time.

"Hey! This is where you live?"

The shock of hearing a familiar voice greeting him nearly sent Jughead back into a panic attack before he realized it was just the girl from the bookstore and not… not someone else, who had known him much longer.

Then he realized this was actually not that much better.

"I'm on my way out," Jughead moved past the girl and headed down the sidewalk in the direction she'd been coming from.

"My dad lives two blocks further down, but on this same street!" She had turned to follow Jughead. "See what I mean about fate?"

There were a lot of houses on this street. There were streets nearby with no homes, because they were all businesses. It seems more like urban planning than fate to Jughead. He kept his mouth shut, though, not wanting to encourage conversation and not sure what he could do to lose this girl now. He wasn't about to go back in the house with Brand so tense.

"I'm Alice," the girl had fallen into step next to Jughead.

"Alice?" Jughead looked at her in surprise.

"What's your name?" She seemed oblivious to Jughead's odd reaction to her name.

"Jonas," Jughead and Brand had drummed up a few basics that would make them more anonymous than his real first name allowed. Since Brand called him "Jones" most of the time, this had been a convenient pseudonym.

"Jonas what?"

"Stop asking me questions, okay?" Jughead shook his head in frustration. "You didn't tell me your last name, and you certainly don't need mine. You don't need to know where I live. You don't need to follow me."

"And yet, fate," Alice smiled sweetly, and suddenly Jughead caught the ghost of an impish look cross her face.

"Wait a minute... Do you do this often?" Jughead's tone turned knowing and slightly caustic as he realized he was being played. "Is this entertainment to you? Pick on some random person? Are you filming this or something?" Good lord, he hoped not. All he needed was a viral video of some prank.

Alice looked surprised now. "Should I be? I didn't think this was social media worthy." Her expression changed entirely over to a smirk, though, confirming his suspicions. "People usually don't realize I'm messing with them. I just like to liven things up. I get bored when I stay with my dad and like to see how strangers react to strange encounters of the random kind. Well played!" Alice turned to leave. "Enjoy the book!"

Jughead watched her walking away for a moment, before he was suddenly possessed by a demon. Or something similarly self-destructive. "Wait, that's it? I figure out you're performing a social experiment, and you're suddenly done with me?"

"Social experiment's over!" Alice didn't even spare a glance at him as she continued walking away. "Have a nice life, Jonas."

Jughead became increasingly convinced that he was possessed by a demon when his feet started taking him after her. "How did you figure out where I live?"

"That actually was a coincidence," Alice shrugged. She didn't seem to mind that she was now the one being followed, but she didn't encourage him either.

"Not fate anymore?" Jughead just couldn't stop. He wondered if these months without internet had caused permanent damage to his brain.

Alice laughed darkly. "Not fate, no."

"Do you really have a homework assignment about crime writing?" Jughead asked.

"Yep," Alice finally stopped to face him. "So I really am going home, and you really should get to the bookstore before it closes or someone else buys that book you were drooling over."

"I might actually be able to help," Jughead heard himself offer. Definitely permanent damage from internet withdrawal, he decided.

"I don't actually need help," Alice suddenly sounded proud and not a little snobby. She had the grace to look embarrassed when she quickly added "I'm a writer. Straight A's. This is a topic I picked out on my own."

Jughead felt like he'd been socked in the stomach as waves of memories of Betty rolled over him. He'd worked hard to get out of the habit of thinking about her. And now this.

"Okay," Jughead said, beginning a hasty retreat. He gave a quick salute and made his way back up the sidewalk, in the direction of the bookstore. "Good luck with the social experiments."

"Good luck with…." Alice didn't finish her sentence, but gave him a wide grin as she echoed his parting words in the bookstore. He couldn't help a small smile in response to her quick humor.

Jughead bought the book in a hurry, then stood for a while in the Thrillers section of the bookstore, browsing the less familiar titles. His mind was on Brand, though, and whether he should mention Alice or keep today's conversations a secret. This was the sort of thing he was supposed to avoid - he could be recognized, and she was even American - but it had been the first real conversation he'd had with anyone but his godfather in months.

His godfather, who still featured heavily in his nightmares.

Jughead stared blindly at titles written in creative fonts to resemble lightning, blood, and even outlines of weapons in some of the letters. It occurred to him that this was not the place to find answers, and he left the store.

Growing up apparently meant fewer and fewer answers with each passing day. With nothing resolved other than his book purchase, Jughead walked slowly back to the row house. It had been just under an hour, and Brand would be waiting but not anxious.

Everything was fine.

**00000**

Riverdale had been rocked by the murder of Jason Blossom. It had recoiled from Clifford Blossom's suicide and the revelation that he had so unnaturally turned on his own family and murdered Jason. The town had been exhausted by responses to the dangerous fires in two locations during the same night.

They really could not be blamed too harshly for their subsequent willingness to accept the facts in front of them, even when they did not quite add up. When it came to a missing person who had been witnessed inside a burning building - even when no remains were recovered from that fire. It was particularly understandable that the town wanted to move on for the most part when seven sets of remains that were too far gone to be identified, but were clearly human and male, were recovered from a house explosion that occurred the same night, just outside of town.

Even Sheriff Keller was struggling with his own sense of duty regarding devoting further resources to a search for Brandon and Jughead after what Archie had described witnessing. It sounded like Brandon had been mixed up in something bad, and the idea that Jughead would find his way, injured and incapacitated, to a base of operations for what appeared so far to be multiple schemes involving drugs and weapons, well - that no longer seemed as unlikely as it once had. His godfather must have returned to the trailer to retrieve Jughead before setting it on fire, even though Archie swore up and down that the time course didn't allow for that.

There were a few people pushing to devote more resources to the search. First among them was FP, who had just been released weeks earlier and was furious to discover that his son had been 'presumed dead' for even a moment when there was a chance he'd escaped or been taken out of the area. After the local searches had combed the region, 'out of the area' was the only option they reasonably had left.

Interestingly, Fred Andrews had been the most supportive of FP in mobilizing the FBI and making sure that Jughead's picture was circulated. Where FP could be public, loud, and sometimes drunk in his efforts to keep Jughead in the news, Fred was very quiet about his steadfast support for the cause. He didn't want to rub Archie's nose in how deeply involved he'd been in making sure every stone was turned over before they gave up on Jughead.

Archie was traumatized by what he'd witnessed, and by what he knew to be true. He more than anyone else was convinced that Jughead had died in the trailer, and that the fire had somehow become inexplicably hot enough to destroy any trace of his remains. Where most folks in Riverdale had shrugged at the trailer fire when Keller came up empty in his investigation, and they opted to blame the explosion and far more violent house fire for the loss of a citizen and local student, Archie defended what he had seen fiercely. It was important to him that people understand and acknowledge what had happened, and what had killed his best friend. He hated the idea that Jughead not only died alone, but also that his last moments were not understood - believed - by anyone.

The Serpents could be depended on to fall in line with FP, but Keller had quickly realized that there was a lack of enthusiasm there. Apparently there was some information circulating among them that suggested it was not unlikely that Jughead and Brand had dealings with Joe and the folks who had owned and used the house outside of town, so when FP insisted that Jughead not be counted among the unidentified dead from that disaster, well… the Serpents nodded along, but only when they had to.

The mayor had preferred that fewer resources go toward the search, even from the beginning, and she was only pushing harder for the budget to tighten down after three months and then four had passed with no credible leads coming to light.

And then there was Kevin.

Keller didn't weigh his son's preferences at all in most investigations, but at this point the whole foundation for the case had become so weak that even a small reason to keep searching or to give up the search could tip his internal scales. Kevin was convinced that Jughead was dead and Brand along with him, and there was something about his manner that suggested he regretted the deaths - but not necessarily all of the outcomes. After all, with Jughead gone, some of the most potent ties between Joaquin and Kevin's highschool life had evaporated overnight.

The sheriff knew that Kevin would be among the first to search if there had been more hope, but all the same Keller couldn't shake the feeling that it was a little too convenient to most people for them to accept that Jughead was dead though his body would never be identified.

Convenience never felt quite right to him when someone's safety was at stake.

Keller looked over the report on the budget and expenditures and made the unpopular decision - one more time - to extend the search in its fully funded form. After that could be the point of ramping down their efforts, at long last, but it would be satisfyingly inconvenient for Riverdale to have this last ditch search effort continue in full force. Jughead deserved at least that from the town that had failed him.

**00000**

"Betty," Veronica peeked into her friend's bedroom. "Your mom let me in."

Betty was lying on her bed with her textbooks unopened beside her. "I'm studying."

"I brought snacks," Veronica smiled tentatively, trying to warm up her friend to the fact of her arrival. "Do you want some light in here?"

The shades were drawn firmly over Betty's window facing the Andrews' home across the street.

"He's home right now," Betty stated matter-of-factly. After months, Veronica was familiar with all of the reasons why Betty was angry with both of the Andrews men, but she still could not tell which was the current offender without more information.

"Archie?" Veronica guessed, since the window was more of a problem with the younger Andrews man.

"No, his dad."

Betty had at first been reflexively furious with Archie, the bearer of the horrifying story of her boyfriend's unthinkable death and the one person who might have been able to intervene in time - and had not. As more details emerged and it became clear to Betty that Jughead had not been in the trailer fire after all, her anger became focused on Archie's refusal to believe all of the scientific reasons why a lack of remains meant that what he thought he'd seen could not be the truth. Betty had been a staunch supporter of the search for Jughead. At first.

After the remains from the house explosion had been recovered, Betty had begun to feel huge cracks open up in her fervent hope. As more details emerged about Brand, her anger had focused once again on Archie for excluding her from his speculations about Jughead's godfather - and her hope turned to despair when she finally learned through accosting Joaquin that there was evidence that Jughead and Brand had known the owner of the house that had been so violently destroyed.

That was when she'd turned on Fred for continuing to pursue the search for her dead boyfriend - the one who could not be laid to rest as long as the search was ongoing. It didn't help that FP had moved in there when he was released, and even a glimpse of his familiar posture from across the street gave Betty the jolt of recognition that should only have come from seeing Jughead.

Veronica had braced herself for weeks, knowing logically that Betty's anger should include her for at least one of these same reasons. She'd suspected things were not right with Brand, and she hadn't shared those concerns with Betty. She'd believed Archie's story and also had the initial response of disbelief that Archie had hesitated to get Jughead out of the trailer before the fire began. She even had a guilty, dark secret: Veronica was horrified at the loss of Jughead, yet at the same time guiltily relieved that Archie had not gone into the trailer and been endangered as well.

There were other reasons Betty could hate Veronica. She had begun dating Archie, though their relationship was deeply strained by his slow recovery from what he'd witnessed and gone through in the weeks after the fire, during the initial investigations. Veronica had also joined Fred's bandwagon quietly, but with determination, when the shocking news had become public that there had been no remains recovered from the trailer.

Basically, if Betty had been angry about something, Veronica had occupied ground zero for that cause for a time. Somehow, though, the irrationality of Betty's fury had allowed for an eye in the storm that focused directly on Veronica. Betty needed someone, and while their friendship was tense at best, it had remained firm throughout the long months of winter.

It was March, and arguably still winter in Riverdale, but Veronica knew that spring would be arriving in a few short weeks. She'd set a personal goal of having her friends moving forward by then, even if the progress was more microscopic than tortoise-like.

Snacks were always a good place to start.

"I have dark chocolate," Veronica sat down on the bed alongside Betty. "I also have news. There's a family moving to Riverdale with a daughter our age. Her mother is friends with my father - I know, I know -" Veronica waved off Betty's raised eyebrow, "it's nothing sordid or criminal, I promise. Anyway, apparently she's a writer and fair game for recruitment onto the Blue and Gold."

Betty had kept the paper limping along, but had not expressed enthusiasm for it since the previous fall.

Veronica decided to move in for the kill. "Her parents are divorced and she's been moving around a lot while her mother tries to find steady work. Her father is apparently loaded, some ex-pat somewhere, so she travels a lot because of the custody arrangement. But she's basically broke unless her mother can find steady work - she's going to be temping at your parents' newspaper, but my mother, being Hermione, wants to help them out so they don't have to move again once the hype dies down there."

Betty was also angry with her parents, whose joint efforts writing up local events had gotten The Register recognition and a huge boost in circulation since Blossom's suicide and the two fires.

Veronica was counting on that anger to help motivate Betty.

"There has to be other work she could do in Riverdale," Betty sounded irritated. Good. "When do they get here?"

"I think in a few weeks," Veronica broke off a square of very dark chocolate and passed it to her friend. "I'm thinking we might want to start by looking into Pop's, but there are a few other options that might be better."

They began to brainstorm together.

**00000**

**I guess this is really happening. Sequel launched! I do love a review, even if it's just a few words letting me know you're reading (thanks! Hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing, and that you're having a lovely Easter/Passover/non-celebratory weekend!). **

**I'll see what I can do to get chapter two up within a week!**

**-Button**


	2. Chapter 2

**We're off to the races with another chapter! **

**This is admittedly more slow-burn that BCBC, so I get if there's lower interest as the plot ramps up, but I'd really love to hear what you think of this new story. I hope you enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

'Hello again, demon,' Jughead thought to himself wryly as he walked down the sidewalk in the direction Alice had disappeared just a few days before. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, except maybe the 'fate' that Alice had mocked.

Jughead felt foolish when he'd walked for half a mile and realized that there was no way he'd be able to divine where she was located even if he did walk past her father's home. It seemed like the coincidence that let her find his house had been a one-time thing.

Brand had banished Jughead to a nearby park for a much-needed change of scenery, so Jughead changed direction at the next cross street. He hadn't left the row house since he'd returned with his book on the night he'd met Alice, and it was obvious that Brand was getting concerned. Jughead wasn't sure where Brand went to socialize, but he knew it was typically at night and it seemed like Brand had a fairly extensive network of friends and connections in the Toronto area.

The first time Brand went out, Jughead had wondered aloud if his friends had all signed off on the 'Brand is dead' plot, but Brand had reminded him that his line of work only involved people who knew how not to share sensitive information. Apparently this courtesy extended to Jughead as well, so he hadn't inquired further. He also couldn't bring himself to be envious of Brand's contact with people outside of their row house, since he'd met Joe and some of his colleagues in Riverdale. Even if the clientele had improved in Toronto, odds were that Brand's friends belonged more to the old set than the new. Jughead had no desire to run into anyone Brand worked with, in any capacity.

Not that Brand had offered.

Instead, Jughead had fielded offers from his godfather to drop him off at various locations around the city to explore or go for a run or similar. They had an impressive gym instead of a traditional basement, though, so Jughead could run there - and he was inexplicably reluctant to stray far from the house. He could be bored, claustrophobic, and even starting to daydream about exploring the waterfront, but Jughead knew that once he was far enough away from the house that his mental map of the city started to become even slightly tentative, his heart would start ramping up from pounding to racing.

So far he still couldn't go more than a block or two from the house without 'pounding' being his heart's default.

Jughead caught sight of a flash of green and a gap in the pattern of buildings ahead as he continued down the cross street, and was glad to see that he had only crossed a few blocks further than he'd previously explored. This park would expand his home territory, but it shouldn't trigger any of the panic he'd begun learning to live with.

It wasn't worth wondering if his panic responses would have been improved or perhaps made much, much worse if they'd moved somewhere more rural. The orderly city streets with names and grids were reassuring, and that had to be enough for Jughead for now.

Jughead walked into the park, carefully noting where the entrances were located for the large green space. There seemed to be some late-winter-and-early-spring work being done on the park, so it was dotted with fencing to protect portions of the park from foot traffic. Jughead shook his head when he realized he was looking for escape routes in the maze of fencing. He didn't stop himself, though, and walked hurriedly until he reached a point where he had easy access to several exits from the park in different directions.

There were more people here, since the day was unseasonably warm and this was the untouched portion of the park. It must have fared better through the winter. Jughead tried to ignore his shoulders loosening when he chose a spot in view of plenty of witnesses and settled down to read under a tree. If he was going to get lost in a book, it needed to be in a place public enough that nobody would dare target him.

Which probably should have led him to expect what happened next.

"Jonas?" Alice came bounding over from where she had blended in as one more anonymous person tossing a frisbee with a group that immediately closed behind her to continue playing their game. "You come out in the daytime?"

Jughead's head snapped up. He shook his long hair back out of his face and scrambled to his feet reflexively.

Alice stopped in her tracks, a few feet away from Jughead. She raised her hands like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. "Whoa, you don't have to run. This park is big enough for us both. Geez."

"I'm not going to run," Jughead felt his words belied as he took a step backward, away from Alice and her unexpected appearance. "You just startled me."

It was daytime, and he got a better look at her this time. Alice was almost as tall as he was, and had the same shade of dark blond hair he'd had for weeks after leaving Riverdale - but hers was clearly natural, and highlighted enough that he could tell she likely spent a lot of time outside. Instead of simply looking muscular, Alice looked athletic in this setting and while her features were sharper and more defined than Betty's, there were an overwhelming number of similarities between them.

He also noticed her appraising him from head to foot as well.

"Sorry to bother you. I'll leave you alone," Alice decided after a few long moments. "Enjoy the weather."

"You don't have to go-," Jughead stopped the demon mid-sentence this time.

Alice waited for Jughead to continue speaking, a dubious look crossing her face.

Jughead wasn't sure what to say. He suddenly, desperately wanted company, but at the same time his heart was picking up speed in a way that he knew meant trouble.

The silence lengthened uncomfortably.

"Look, I'm sorry about the social experiment. You don't need to jerk me around to try and get even," Alice moved to leave. Something made her pause, though, and instead of walking away she sighed in defeat and took a step toward Jughead. Her expression moved from guarded to unsure. "You are messing with me, right? Because honestly, you're acting like a moody chick magnet who knows exactly how hot he is and enjoys using that, but you also legit look like you're about to pass out right now."

Jughead wasn't sure what part of Alice's description surprised him most, but the passing out description certainly surprised him least. He was going to need a paper bag in another minute.

"I, uh-," Jughead gasped for air he hadn't realized he didn't have until he'd tried to speak. He quickly crouched and drew in a long, slow breath through his nose that filled his chest without seeming to actually reach his lungs. Jughead resisted the urge to expel it and draw in another too quickly. He counted slowly before releasing the breath and allowing himself the next one more quickly than he knew was entirely wise.

"Passing out it is," Alice's eyes had widened in concern despite her sarcastic quip, but she simply strode over to Jughead and crouched next to him. "Do you carry an inhaler or something?"

Jughead shook his head; it felt like the air still wasn't getting where it needed to, even though he knew better than to let himself start hyperventilating. His lungs burned, but he forced his breathing to remain even.

"Well, that isn't too bright," Alice's voice had softened and she tried to smile to reassure Jughead though the expression did nothing to dislodge the fear from her eyes. "What do I do?"

Oxygen suddenly seemed to work again. Jughead moaned in relief, lowering his forehead to his knees and letting a couple of breaths confirm that his heart rate was starting to return to normal.

"What do I do?!" Alice repeated, this time more frantically.

"No, I'm okay," Jughead realized his relieved slump looked even scarier to Alice, and he lifted his head slightly, with a weak smile. "Well, my godfather did warn me that I'd get rickets if I didn't get out more."

Alice blinked at him.

"I'm still lightheaded, sorry. Bad joke." Jughead paused for a moment, considering. "Incomprehensible joke, actually. It's something he said the other day-,"

"What just happened?" Alice interrupted, losing patience with the evasive rambling. "Are you sick? Do you have asthma? Do we need to get you home to your - godfather?"

Jughead had a feeling he'd live to regret sharing that Brand was his godfather, but at the moment he was more concerned with coming up with the least damaging lie about his panic attack.

"I don't actually know." Jughead winced as the words came out of his mouth. Great, now it sounded about as scary as humanly possible.

"You should really see a doctor, then," Alice stood up and took a step away but didn't make any move to leave this time. Jughead sat all the way down on the ground. "Is your godfather at home? I don't want to leave you alone like this."

"My evil hot-guy plan has worked, then," Jughead smirked up, though he suspected she missed most of the expression when his hair fell forward. He didn't push it back, realizing for the first time that there was a benefit to be had here - a barrier, and some measure of privacy. It was better than sunglasses.

Alice looked embarrassed now, and ignored the comment. "So… is it a good book?"

It was the book he'd bought the night he met her.

"Great book." This time Jughead swept his hair out of his face. It looked like she planned to stick around for a conversation at least. "How's your crime writing project going?"

"I read Dave Holloway's book." Alice sat down next to Jughead.

"Ouch," Jughead shook his head.

"Yep," Alice agreed. "That was singularly painful. Any recommendations?"

Jughead couldn't help lighting up on this topic. He knew true crime. The demon seemed determined that he would have some human contact, too.

He found that he didn't mind.

**00000**

A few hours later, Jughead walked with Alice up to her father's house. He'd convinced her not to walk him the rest of the way home by swearing that he didn't have 'attacks' that close together and he felt entirely recovered. In truth, he didn't want Brand to catch wind of the fact that he'd made a friend.

It didn't surprise him that Alice had more of an edge than Betty - almost any human did - but he had been surprised by how much her frenetic sense of humor amused and relaxed him. There was an annoying 'poor little rich girl' vibe she gave off when she complained about her wealthy, relatively absent father, but Jughead figured it was hard to get much perspective when you hadn't grown up the way he did, or even with friends who had grown up that way for that matter. He tried to be generous. And her humor did land often enough that she was not entirely clueless about life, he reminded himself.

It sounded like she was going to be in town for a few more days, and then back in New York for a number of weeks before her next visit. Jughead didn't want to project the desperation he felt for just a little more human contact before she left the country, and he was thankful when Alice took the initiative instead.

"What are you up to tomorrow, Jonas?" Alice had stopped at the low gate decorating the edge of her father's very impressively landscaped property. "I could keep an eye on you. Make sure you keep breathing. You could help me avoid more of the Dave Holloways of this world. Since you've had so much more time to become acquainted with them."

The dual-citizen passport Brand had secured for Jughead stated his age as eighteen, and he'd had the presence of mind to recall that when she'd asked. She seemed very aware of the fact that they were (supposedly) not the same age. Jughead was already finding that he enjoyed having the excuse of age for knowing random facts from his broad range of reading.

"I _was_ thinking about luring more chicks in with my wiles," Jughead smirked, "but fate is apparently intervening."

"You know it," Alice smiled brightly. "Want to meet at Riverdale Farm and walk around a different park this time?"

Jughead nearly choked.

"Too far for you?" Alice frowned at his reaction. "We can meet here and just walk. Find some trouble to get into locally."

"Yeah, okay," Jughead nodded quickly, swallowing his surprise at the familiar name. "Here is fine. What time?"

"How soon can you get here?" Alice's smile this time could only be described as flirtatious. Now that she'd realized the handsome stranger she'd met in a bookstore was smart, single, and actually not cocky and self-absorbed - not to mention his being vulnerable in a way that brought all of her protective instincts to the fore - she was fast finding his inadvertent charm irresistible. A few signals to that effect wouldn't hurt, particularly since he was on the wrong side of eighteen to take her too seriously.

Jughead didn't notice any signals, flirtatious or otherwise, as he looked at his watch and considered. "I can get away by eight am, but I'd have to be back before six pm."

"Sold!" Alice hadn't expected that much time, but she was far from dismayed. "See you here at eight!"

Jughead nodded in acknowledgment and gave her another quick salute as he headed back to his own house. His mind was already filling with excuses to give Brand for his all-day absence. This was going to be interesting.

**00000**

Brand settled down with his laptop after dinner. He was relieved that Jones was apparently beginning to take more of an interest in exploring the city on his own. He'd grown an astonishing inch or so and put on muscle during their months in Toronto, and Brand had come to appreciate the fact that they hadn't cut his hair - it was now long enough that he looked even older than his altered passport stated, and vaguely dangerous. Most importantly, he was definitely less recognizable than if they'd cut his hair short. For some reason there was still aggressive press coverage of his disappearance coming from the Riverdale area, well past the point when Brand had thought it would begin dying down. He wondered what information they had stumbled across to make them so certain Jones was not dead, but knew there was nothing he could do about it but continue waiting.

The plan to go out for the day was heartening, though. It had been obvious that Jones had been struggling to work through echoes of his trauma for the past few months, though Brand had tried not to acknowledge exactly how much he'd noticed during that time. Space and time were the best healers, he knew. He'd also done what he could to encourage Jones to slowly expand the tight radius around the house that he was willing to venture into.

Other symptoms were more challenging to address.

The screaming every night in his sleep was not likely to abate for a while longer; Brand had taught Jughead everything he knew about breathing his way through a panic attack; the exercise equipment in their basement gym registered plainly that any possible benefit to the teen's periodically skyrocketing blood pressure was certainly being gained there, but without much effect so far. He'd focus on the positive, though: Jones was finally expressing interest in making a plan for an entire day at a time and exploring on his own. Brand wondered if it would actually last for the full day, or if the need to return to home base would drive him back sooner, but he thought the timeline was about right for this next step. Certainly cabin fever had finally arrived after months of unsettlingly silent complacency within the confines of his upstairs bedroom.

Brand couldn't say he enjoyed having Jones' energetic agitation return to the household, but he did recognize it as a better sign than the near-constant reading that had come before. Jones had taken his closet door off its hinges and carried it up to the attic just after they had moved in, and for some reason Brand had found him sleeping in the closet on more than one occasion with a book on his chest. That was when he wasn't wearing a dent into his mattress by sprawling there with his latest novel, or - strangest of all - pacing his room in a tight loop while reading. The writing on the wallpaper had really worried Brand before Jones explained they were quotes from books that he was memorizing. This had really looked like a grade-A crackup for a while.

Which was only one of the reasons why Brand was not thrilled with the E-mail he'd just opened. 'Roy, you idiot. Who did you tell?' Brandon could think of only one person with enough information to open up this can of worms. 'So much for keeping the kid out of sight and hoping everyone forgets he exists.'

Brand closed his laptop without replying to the query. He'd need to sleep on this before setting anything in motion.

**00000**

"Croissants first," Alice took charge of the day immediately, which suited Jughead just fine. Especially if there were croissants involved.

"Lead on," Jughead followed Alice and was gratified to see that their route was directly toward his favorite patisserie.

"So, I'm leaving Toronto tomorrow, but I came up with a plan," Alice didn't turn around from her beeline toward breakfast. "We can text whenever you're going somewhere, and you can tell me where you'll be when, and if anything happens you just call me. Like, just dial or whatever, even if you can't talk, and I'll get help to you wherever you are."

"What?" She'd lost Jughead at 'text.' "I don't have a phone, Alice, and even if I did, wouldn't someone, I don't know, in-country be a better emergency contact?"

"Oh. My." Alice stopped so abruptly that Jughead had to take a couple of skittering steps to the side to avoid colliding with her. "You don't have a phone?!"

Jughead had somehow forgotten how insane his life was. "Uh, I'm grounded from it? It's kind of embarrassing. But yeah, no phone."

"You are over eighteen, Jonas," Alice's eyebrows had shot up. "Do NOT tell me what you did to be grounded from your phone as a legal adult."

"Your obsession with my age is a little weird. Just so you know," Jughead attempted to redirect the conversation.

"E-mail me proof of life, then? Maybe once a day?" Alice was not about to be put off. She was well aware that over a few weeks' absence, she might lose the interest of the handsome enigma from her father's neighborhood. She also felt searingly protective after their experience the day before in the park and hated to leave right after he'd had an asthma attack or whatever it had been. "I pretty much saved your life, since you apparently don't even have a phone to call for help, so you owe me at least that."

"I'm… uh, super grounded." Jughead wasn't sure this was going to make sense in any universe, and tried to channel Archie and his functional relationship with Fred. Not that Fred would ever take away Archie's phone, since that posed a potential safety issue.

"Oh, well now I KNOW you're messing with me," Alice continued walking toward the patisserie. "I'm going to get your digits by the end of the day, though. I have ways."

"Care to make a wager?"

"Ways, I tell you," Alice smiled mysteriously.

**00000**

Alice did not get his nonexistent phone number. Nor did she get his last name, or his previous address in the States. Jughead had to admit that Brand was thorough; Alice had made a few clever moves that left her with Jughead's wallet when they stopped to get lunch at a food truck. She'd been more surprised than Jughead had expected when she learned nothing from its contents.

"Are you a CIA agent?" Alice had all sorts of idle theories. "Witness protection? Are you the world's worst kidnapping victim? Mafia?"

"Guy who lost his wallet recently and hasn't stocked his new one?" Jughead threw into the mix. "You'll never know, will you?"

"Nobody makes it far without a credit card, and with so little cash," Alice eyed him suspiciously. "Have you still not learned the exchange rate?"

"I'm going with world's worst kidnapping victim because of how you're treating me," Jughead reached out a hand. "Wallet back, please."

"That makes sense, with the lack of money and ID," Alice mused playfully. "You really wouldn't get far. Okay, that's your new legend."

"I don't want to know what you mean by that, do I?" Jughead recognized the signs of a new whimsical game. Alice was bright, and it was obvious she got bored more easily than most folks with typical conversations.

"You don't need to know... just enjoy the taste of sweet freedom, Jonas… and burgers. The feel of sunshine on your face," Alice grinned as a new thought occurred to her. "Have you been to the islands, by the way?"

Jughead shook his head, content to follow Alice down the streets she clearly knew very well. He was relieved that with the company he didn't feel any tightness in his chest as they navigated unfamiliar streets and neighborhoods. He really was enjoying the freedom and sunshine.

"Next time, for sure," Alice was looking at her phone while Jughead made short work of his burger. "Oh, hey, I've gotta go. My dad wants me back, like, an hour ago."

Jughead raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I thought we had until six? It's what, one?"

"He doesn't know where I am," Alice grimaced at him. "You know how it is. Anyway, if he sees me with you there might be freakage, so I'm going to get us a cab back and drop you off a discreet distance from my place."

"Freakage," Jughead echoed skeptically.

"You know," Alice gestured generally at Jughead. "Tall, jacked, older, looks like he owns a trench coat. People cross the street to avoid you, and all that."

"They do not!" Jughead glared now.

"That lady right over there," Alice gestured with one hand while typing on her phone with the other. "Cab's on its way."

Jughead looked over at the lady, scowling. She hadn't been crossing the street, but when she saw his expression she did give him a wide berth on the sidewalk.

"That was practically the same thing," Alice shrugged expansively. "And my dad would _not_ be cool with it, so let's go. He'll cover the cab." They'd established that Alice's wallet contained a whole lot of identifying information ("Unlike CIA operatives," Alice had pointed out) and credit cards that belonged to her father.

"Well, okay then," Jughead was disappointed that the day was ending early, but all the same he felt like he'd been given a near-miraculous reprieve from his world of the last four months. The feeling that there was still a wider world out there, waiting for him to be ready to re-enter it, seemed like it would sustain him for a while. Alice would be back in a few weeks at the most and they could take another day then. See the islands. "Home, Jeeves."

Alice laughed at the reference. "I am going to need those digits now, though, seriously."

"'Seriously,' you are just going to have to be patient," Jughead replied smugly. The cab pulled up in that moment. "I win the bet."

"Fine, I'll just pine for you… hope you don't die tragically for absolutely no sane reason in the meantime because you got yourself 'super grounded,' whatever that even is… and long for the day we meet again."

"I go to the bookstore at least every Thursday evening," Jughead offered.

"You seem to be forgetting; I know where you live, Jonas." Alice laughed. "You can't hide."

Jughead had forgotten that. Before he could come up with a workaround, though, Alice was signaling the cab driver to pull over so Jughead could get out.

"Know where you are?" Alice bit her lip now, concerned about his mysterious health issue. "I can give you door to door service if that would be better."

"I am less than a block from my house, so no. I think I can make it." Jughead climbed out and waved the cab along. "Have fun in New York!"

"Bye!" Alice smiled to herself even as she rode toward her angry father. Hopefully Jonas wouldn't forget her while she was gone.

**00000**

**As always, if the spirit moves you, I'd love to hear from you. Chapter Three may take a wee bit of doing as the plot starts churning, but you've got most of the players on the board now. :)**

**-Button**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, full disclosure: this pace cannot continue. But I had the chapter written and the story's very first review popped up (thanks, Guest reader!), and I didn't want to hold out. I hope you enjoy this chapter so much that you don't mind the next one taking a little longer. :)**

**-Button**

**00000**

Betty and Veronica had been happy to plan a sleepover at the Coopers' home when they heard that Bryn Carter and her daughter Alice were visiting with the Lodges for the weekend. Bryn was looking for a place to rent when they moved in a few weeks, and she hoped Alice would begin making friends so her transition to a new school would be smoothed as much as possible.

"Do you think we should tell her much about Riverdale, or just kind of ease her into it?" Veronica had made plans for her mother to drop off Alice after the Carters arrived so that she and Betty could get set up and talk beforehand.

"Ease her into it," Betty answered firmly. "No question. If we explain even half of what happened this year, she'll be terrified to move here."

"True," Veronica weighed the options, "but, just as devil's advocate, forewarned _is_ forearmed. Do you think we should tell her at least some of what happened?"

Betty bit her lip. No matter how they sliced the story, it would be difficult to tell even a portion without Jughead's name coming up.

"I just mean about Jason, maybe," Veronica elaborated swiftly. "Nothing else; just one sordid story that could have happened in any small town, but that clearly tells her not to expect Mayberry when she moves here."

"Maybe," Betty wished Veronica would drop the topic. "I was thinking more about recruiting her for the Blue and Gold and maybe finding out more about where her mother could work - other than at The Register."

"Okay," Veronica filed the information away mentally: avoid raising any topic with Alice that related to the events from the past fall.

"Betty, dear?" Alice Cooper knocked on the doorframe to announce her presence. "Alice Carter's here."

Betty's mother ushered a tall, sporty-looking girl into the room. She was wearing torn designer jeans and an artfully knotted T-shirt that showed off her physique. She looked expectant but unimpressed as she took in the room and the two teens.

Betty and Veronica exchanged a quick glance before smiling and hurrying to welcome their guest. She was already not quite what they'd expected.

"Are we planning to sneak out tonight?" Alice intoned quietly as soon as Mrs. Cooper left them to get acquainted. "I've heard that small towns have the craziest parties."

Definitely not what they'd expected.

"Um," Betty tried to phrase her response mildly, "we'd actually planned to stay in tonight."

"Although you are so right about the parties," Veronica's tack was a little different. She winked broadly at Alice. "Give us some time to arrange one once you've moved here. We'll show you what you've been missing in…."

"Buffalo," Alice supplied. "And also Toronto, but only on weekends and holidays."

"That must be difficult," Betty smiled sympathetically. "You'll be further away from Toronto here, too. Although maybe that will make it easier, if you don't have to travel back and forth quite as often…?"

"A week ago I'd have totally agreed," Alice moved further into the room, and all three sat down on the bed. Alice was surprised by her own burning need to tell someone about Jonas and the intense time they'd spent together over just a few days. Telling people who would never meet him seemed as safe as it was likely to get, so she decided to dish. Everyone loved a serendipitous, unrequited crush story, right? "But then I met this guy. Older, naturally, so I don't actually have a chance with him - but for whatever reason he's been bored enough to explore the city with me. And he's crazy smart." Alice heard herself starting to gush and grimaced at her own tone of voice. "Do you really want the whole 'Summer Nights' story?"

Betty and Veronica exchanged another glance, this one more hopeful. Alice was different, but she seemed to bring a lot of energy with her. And apparently a story.

"Absolutely," Betty nodded encouragingly. "How did you meet?"

"Because of course you have to have a meet cute or it's never going to work," Veronica added with a grin to show that she was joking.

"Oh, do we have a meet cute," Alice grinned, this time not minding her wistful tone. "But you have to stop me if it gets too long-winded or whatever. I want to hear all about you and Riverdale. But I've been bursting to tell someone about this guy and to try to figure him out. It's so weird."

"Oooh, a mystery," Veronica leaned in, "do tell."

"And I found him in a bookstore," Alice confirmed. "It really doesn't get much better than that."

Betty agreed readily, quite willing to be caught up in the story and not have to think about sharing details about Riverdale, the Blossoms, or anyone else from her own life. "Oh, definitely. At least, depending on the section."

"True crime," Alice pronounced.

This time Veronica and Betty's exchanged glance was more concerned.

"I told him it was fate," Alice continued, oblivious to their reactions.

**00000**

Jughead had been right that the glow from his half-day outing would last for a while. He hadn't realized that it might set him up for a crash, though, as his days went back to their monotonous routine. It was getting increasingly difficult to get out of bed with nothing to look forward to but reading or a brief foray outside, and Jughead found himself starting to wish he had a means of sending 'proof of life' updates to Alice in New York. If only to see a return message once in a while. Or just to have something that reached out into the wider world.

"Hey, Jones, look alive," Brand dodged a distracted Jughead in the kitchen, nearly spilling his cereal in the process when the teen stepped blindly right into his path.

Jughead looked up blankly in Brandon's general direction, then away again as he grabbed a loaf of bread and started shaking a couple of pieces out of the bag.

'Just when he was doing better,' Brand mused. The E-mail from a few days back came to mind, with its ticking time bomb. 'He'll never be ready at this rate.'

"Jones?" Brand tried to get Jughead's attention again as he decided it was time to address the apparent malaise that had fallen over his charge without warning. "I wasn't going to say anything until I learned more, but I've got something you may be able to help with. I'm going to need evidence from you of some working brain cells first, though."

"What?" This time Jughead looked up with more interest. "A project? Are we finally installing wifi?"

"Not exactly," Brand didn't want to get too far ahead of himself, and he wanted to feel out exactly what was going on with Jones before tipping his hand. "This is something that's going to require you to be in fighting shape."

If he hadn't been looking directly at Jones, Brand might have missed the brief expression of apprehension that crossed his face. Brand's eyes narrowed.

"When do we start?" From the expression that now settled on Jughead's face, they were both surprised by his willing response.

"Tomorrow night," Brand offered quickly, not wanting to give him time to rethink his answer. "There's some cash in it for you."

"What else do I have going on?" Jughead headed back to his bedroom with the bread he'd meant to toast. 'I have to get back to normal,' Jughead breathed deeply through his nose, trying to quiet his heart. 'Maybe this is what I need to break through all of this.'

Getting outside for just one day seemed to have changed everything for him. He hoped enough had changed for Brand as well for training to go more smoothly than it had in Riverdale.

**00000**

Archie entered the lunchroom and quickly joined Veronica before Betty arrived. "Is it my day?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "It's your day every other day, Archiekins. How are you unable to keep track of that?"

"It's not the same day, though," Archie tried to explain as he sat down. "There's an odd number of days, so it's not like every Monday-,"

"Not helping," Veronica couldn't hide a smile, though. This was part of the arrangement she'd worked out to keep Archie and Betty from warring or trying to tear her loyalties in half. It worked generally, except for Archie's inexplicable failure to keep track of whose day it was. She sensed it was intentional, and represented his relatively passive protest against the whole arrangement. It was a little endearing, though, and it meant she saw him at every lunch period, at least briefly. Which, come to think of it, might have been his plan all along.

"So what's the new girl like?" Archie took a bite of his sandwich.

"Actually, surprisingly okay," Veronica shrugged. "I wasn't sure what to expect. She seems prone to exaggeration on some things, like picture-perfect ghost crushes who supposedly don't have phones or computers. _That_ whole thing was a little weird. She's nice, though. Energetic. She might bring some life back into our class."

Veronica regretted her choice of phrase immediately, but Archie didn't seem to notice.

"That's good. Should I line up a Bulldog to take her to the spring dance?" Archie waggled his eyebrows teasingly. "They're always happy to take one for the team and get first crack at getting to know a transfer student."

"I'm going to have to get back to you on that," Veronica looked pensive. "If she didn't make the whole thing up, which is admittedly a real 'if,' then there's a guy she's already interested in - depending on how things go when she sees him again in a few weeks. I'd say that's just in time for a spring dance date, and I'd hate to preempt anything by setting her up now. I'm actually really curious to find out if this guy exists, and if he's anything like she describes him."

"Oh, reeeally?" Archie drawled flirtatiously. "Maybe I'll have to keep an eye on this Amish guy, because once he sees you who knows what might happen."

"Because as we all know, anything can happen in Riverdale," Veronica rolled her eyes at the idea, laughing at her boyfriend's suggestion.

**00000**

Sheriff Keller reluctantly got off the phone with the mayor's office, wishing he didn't have to accept the end of the debate they'd been having. It had sounded definitive, though - Mayor McCoy had let him know in no uncertain terms that there would be no room left in the budget for pursuing Jughead Jones' disappearance the way he'd intended.

The majority of the press coverage was slated to end later that week. The sheriff massaged his eyes as he anticipated the phone call that would surely come from FP once he heard about this new decision.

"Dad?" Kevin was in the dining room, just off of Keller's study. "Everything okay?"

He walked out to join his son at the table. "Not really, no. This stays just between us, Kevin, but it sounds like the search for Jughead Jones is about to go on the back burner."

Kevin's expression became conflicted, and he hesitated but seemed about to speak.

"What is it, son?" Keller prompted. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but he didn't want Kevin stewing about things either.

"Does… this mean we might have a funeral?" Kevin asked. "Or is there never going to be one?"

"That will be up to FP."

"Then no," Kevin said dryly.

"Probably not unless we can be sure we've found him," Keller acknowledged the truth of Kevin's statement. "That's not unusual with this sort of-,"

"There aren't really other cases like this one," Kevin cut his dad off, wanting to end the conversation. "But yeah, I kind of get it. I've read up."

"Okay," Keller was not entirely satisfied leaving things like this, but that seemed to be the reality for everyone at this point. Things would have to continue without resolution.

"Want some ice cream?" Kevin offered.

"Yeah, sure," Keller got up to collect bowls while Kevin got the ice cream from the freezer. "What's new at school?"

"A new transfer student," Kevin shrugged. "Apparently she visited this weekend and starts school here in a few weeks," Kevin grabbed two spoons on his way back to the table.

"Oh?" Keller enjoyed hearing the less salacious gossip through Kevin. It was a nice break from the steady stream of bad-to-worse news that followed anyone in law enforcement. "What do you know about her so far?"

"Well, I just talked to Betty today, and she actually knew quite a bit," Kevin began to light up with the air he always seemed to take on when he had a good story. "She's from Buffalo, but apparently her father lives in Toronto, and she met this guy there like a week ago. It's kind of a weird story, so Betty's not sure if it's entirely true, but I'm hoping it is..."

Keller relaxed into the story, enjoying the disarming time with Kevin. It could still be tense and awkward at times because of Joaquin, but things had definitely improved between them over the previous months. The sheriff was deeply grateful for that.

**00000**

Jughead had worked up his nerve, and came down the stairs to resume his training with Brand. He was determined to make a good showing; he was in shape, and he had been practicing the entire time they'd been in Toronto. There was no reason to feel jittery.

"Hey, hang on a minute, there's someone here to meet you," Brand met Jughead at the foot of the stairs with a meaningful look and a warning shake of his head.

"What?" Jughead's mind raced; Alice must have turned up at the door. He was dead. He needed to get her out of the house. He had to-

"You must be Jones," A man in a suit had followed Brand from the living room and was eyeing Jughead. His expectant expression turned to one of disappointment when he took in Jughead's white tank top and jeans.

"Uh," Jughead wasn't sure how to respond; that wasn't the name Brand wanted him to go by, and this looked like a client. One of the wealthier clients. "Hello."

"We weren't expecting company. He likes to stay in fighting shape," Brand echoed the phrase he'd used earlier in the week and the man in the suit relaxed.

"Is he as promised?" This time the man's scrutiny clearly went past the outfit as he assessed Jughead's build critically.

"Absolutely not," Brand had a mock offended tone. "He's far better. He also has no idea what we're talking about, so why don't you come back when we've had some time to discuss your-,"

"My needs," the suited man nodded as he finished Brand's sentence. "Of course. I'll expect him next Friday."

"You might not-,"

Jughead was shocked when the man in the suit cut Brand off a second time.

"Next Friday, Brandon."

"Next Friday, Jameson," Brand repeated grudgingly.

Jughead waited on the stairs while his guardian escorted the stranger to the door.

"So that's your boss?" Jughead smirked. He could see how chafed Brand had felt at being ordered around.

"That," Brand corrected Jughead firmly, "was _your_ boss. We are in a little bit of trouble, thanks to someone running their mouth about you being a new face in the business."

"I'm not in any business," Jughead protested automatically before a horrifying possibility occurred to him. "...Am I?"

"One job. I should be able to pull the plug on it from now on," Brand didn't make eye contact as he spoke.

"What? No," Jughead raised his hands in firm refusal. "No way. Absolutely not. I'm not working with any of your… clients. I'm just rooming here, minding my own business, until I'm actually eighteen. I'm not - no way, Brand. Call that guy back."

"If it were that simple," Brand made eye contact now, "don't you think I would have done that already?"

A chill ran over Jughead.

"Fine. I'll call him back, then. You don't have to say anything; I'll explain that I refuse to..."

Brand looked pitying now. "I'll meet you in the basement in ten minutes. I'm going to teach you a few new things tonight. Let's just hope you don't need them, eh?"

Jughead shook his head again. But he already knew he'd be in the basement in ten minutes - apparently, once again, he had no choice.

He braced himself for a panic attack, but Jughead was shocked to find that his breathing remained easy. His heart rate had picked up with his agitation, yet it remained settled in a solid, steady rhythm.

Brand walked away from the conversation, leaving Jughead to marvel at his body's capable response to the news that he was in danger again - under threat - and likely about to be pressured, if not forced, into doing something illegal and likely risky - all because he was handy and not a known criminal with a record.

Against all logic, Jughead's body seemed to be relaxing into the familiar mode of responding to threats. 'Maybe this is why some people re-deploy into active war zones again and again,' Jughead shook his head. 'And never quite adjust back to a normal life.'

**00000**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and that you have a great weekend! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts - and also just hear that you're out there, somewhere, reading along as I write. :)**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Hey... I noticed today that a misclick had a second copy of Chapter One posted instead of Chapter Four. Always feel free to tell me if something like that happens. :-D **

**Anyway, latest surgery done; recovery in process. Whew! Thanks for the patience as apparently recovery means glitching the chapter. I hope you enjoy this installment!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Fred was not surprised to receive a call from Sheriff Keller letting him know that funding was finally cut off for the search. Their best case scenario at this point was that Brand had kidnapped Jughead, and it was unclear what would have motivated him to do that short of trafficking the teen - a possibility that haunted FP, but seemed impossibly remote to Fred - so there had to be an end of the public funds supporting such an expansive search. That meant it was time to have that new difficult conversation with FP.

Unfortunately, FP was out of town tracking down another 'tip' that had been phoned in from some crank. Fred had lost track of the places FP had traveled at this point, often riding buses through the night and returning haggard to Riverdale, but more determined than ever that eventually one of his desperate trips would be successful.

Fred had more sympathy than he wanted to fully admit to, since that level of honesty would only encourage FP in what was surely a futile expenditure of time, money, and agony. Fred wouldn't let him go through this nightmare scenario alone, though. Everything about the last six months hit far too close to home for him to let FP leave prison for homelessness, or more likely a Serpent's couch, so he'd opened up his own home to the grieving father.

When Keller had called to notify FP first that no remains had been recovered from the trailer, but immediately followed that news with the information that seven people, any of whom could have been Jughead, were killed in the house explosion, Fred had sat up all night with FP as he had processed the ramifications of this information. It had been brutal, and recriminations had ranged from Archie, whose intel appeared to have some gaps in it, to FP himself for not starting a search sooner.

Fred didn't know what to make of Archie's unwavering certainty about events and the conflicting evidence that had since turned up, but he did know what to do with a terrified father who was trying recover his missing son. Fred had to help him until there was no longer even the smallest hope left alive.

Archie didn't like Fred's involvement in the search, but counterintuitively had taken to FP and often stayed up late into the night talking with him between the older man's forays to investigate the latest tips that had been called in. These conversations had at first resembled a wake for Jughead, typically involving stories about him that the other had not heard before, but gradually morphed into a friendship quite apart from the immediate circumstances. Fred hoped it would be restorative for both of them, and he joined the late-night conversations when he was able.

Now, though, he suspected the strange equilibrium that they'd reached in the household was about to be thrown into disarray.

**00000**

Jughead was still confused by the instructions he'd been given, even though he'd nearly completed his role in whatever was going on.

"Do you need anything else?" The saleslady wasn't paying much attention to Jughead's purchase of a candy bar, so he figured his training in being forgettable was working.

"No," Jughead noted the time; he was done. "Thanks."

He left the store, no less mystified than he'd been when he went inside. He walked a few blocks and saw the car waiting for him, just as planned, and climbed into the backseat.

"Jacket." The man in the suit made his demand from the front seat. Jughead had since learned that his name was Jameson.

Jughead slid it off readily, handing it over the seat.

"Here's a bonus for managing it on your first try," Jameson handed Jughead a small, expensive-looking bottle of scotch with his bundle of cash.

This was turning out to be really easy. Jughead wasn't sure what he'd managed, and as for the 'first try,' he couldn't imagine what would have necessitated a second try.

"You'd be surprised, kid," Jameson answered the unspoken question that was all over Jughead's face. "Now scram."

Jughead got out of the car before anyone had a chance to realize that he hadn't really done anything for them - that nothing illegal had happened except for alcohol being given to a minor.

'About that…' Jughead quickly tucked the small bottle and cash away, out of sight. According to his falsified passport he was old enough to drink in Canada, but he still felt more like a criminal now than when he'd been employed by one just a few minutes before.

Hurrying up the street back toward his neighborhood, Jughead took a deep breath and released it slowly. He savored the feeling of being in control of his fear response, of being well outside of his previous radius of the row house and feeling confident that he could handle himself.

He also savored the feeling of being done with whatever Brand had been unable to say no to on his behalf. 'That's behind me now,' Jughead felt better with every footfall that left Jameson literally behind him. 'Never to be repeated.'

He reached out to knock on the wood leaning against a building. Just in case.

**00000**

"Are you okay?" Brand was waiting when Jughead entered the house. "Did everything go smoothly?"

"I'm fine," Jughead shrugged. "Actually, the whole thing was weird. All Jameson wanted me to-,"

"Don't tell me," Brand stopped him mid-sentence. "Never tell anyone what you did today." Brand thought for a moment. "You must have done well, though. You'd know if it went wrong, believe me."

"It was fine. He even gave me a bonus," Jughead had begun heading to his room, but pivoted to toss Brand the small bottle of scotch. "Enjoy."

Brand caught the scotch, but the expression on his face had frozen. "Jones... Jameson called this a bonus? He used that word?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Jughead's hand returned to his pocket, on the bundle of bills now. Part of him wanted to toss those to Brand as well, and be rid of them. Another part of him knew that this was how everything in his life was funded at that moment, so it would be an empty gesture - and having even a small stash of emergency money might come in handy. His pragmatism won out over a token ethical stance and he left the money in his pocket. Then he realized his godfather hadn't explained himself. "Why?"

Brand turned away from Jughead to open his laptop.

"Why, Brand?" Jughead repeated. It looked like he wasn't going to get a response, though. Brandon was already composing an E-mail when Jughead shrugged off the odd exchange and headed on to his room.

**00000**

"He's bright, he keeps his nose clean, and he doesn't look like easy pickings," Jameson mused aloud to Daniel. "For anything that requires contact with someone sensitive, keep him in the rotation. If things are likely to go sideways, I prefer him to other options."

They'd had a mild personnel turnover issue recently.

"Brandon won't like it," Daniel felt the obvious needed to be stated. He'd taken a turn behind the wheel earlier that day, and seen the test run play out. While Jameson's assessment was correct - Jones was pay dirt in all of those ways - there was definitely another factor here: from where he was standing, it looked for all the world like the teenager would as soon see them in jail as make his bones.

"Good." Jameson's expression hardened. "Brandon shows up, a full roster of issues right on his tail, and thinks he can dictate terms. He's forgotten how things work around here; if Jones is going to breathe our air, he's going to pull his own weight. I don't care if he's collateral, a loose end, or whatever fool reason Brand has for keeping him around when there's a nationwide search going on in the States. And Brand needs an adjustment to his attitude toward sharing."

Before this conversation Daniel would have laid odds on Jones being something between a loose end and a house pet for Brandon, but he had to admit Jameson had a point about there perhaps being an element of collateral. A lot of people had spent a lot of money trying to find the kid, and Daniel wouldn't want to risk potential exposure by getting rid of him at this point either - or worse, getting caught without Jones alive as a bargaining chip. The more passive version of offing the teen, by farming him out to Jameson (whose personnel issue was arguably due to some gross mismanagement that had led to quite the blood bath a few weeks ago), would create all of the same liabilities.

Daniel's hot take was that this was no rebellion: Brand was playing a smart game by protecting his teenaged insurance policy, and the only confusing thing was the sheer brazenness of the rest of his arrangement with Jones. Daniel didn't know anyone else who would be so confident in his control of a situation as to let an abductee come and go as he pleased from his base of operations. Brand was as talented as people said - Daniel could already see that, after only a few months with him in town - but he was cocky too, and his luck would eventually run out. Likely sooner than later, now that he was solidly in Jameson's sights.

The local situation was increasingly restless for Jameson as well, so it was important that Brand toe the line as an example to those who were still upset about the recent losses.

Instead, Brandon had drawn a line in the sand - around the teenager. If Jameson didn't wipe out that line aggressively, he was quite likely to have the sharks circling even faster than they already were.

Any blood in the water needed to belong to someone else.

"If it looks like it's going to go sideways, Jones is our guy," Jameson repeated. "See to it."

Daniel nodded agreeably. So far he still backed Jameson, and this was objectively the right play. Jones would either do well, making him a shining example of Jameson's good judgment, or he'd be in a pool of his own blood soon enough - making him a prime example of what even minor rebellion would bring to people like Brand who got too big for their britches.

**00000**

FP wasn't stupid. The Serpents had given up; Fred was ready to give up whenever FP called it quits; funding was long since overdue to run out from the town; the odds that one of the cranks who called in to the hotline would turn out to be credible were infinitesimally low.

But FP also knew that a tiger didn't change its stripes, and that it was a member of the cat family - Brand had at least nine lives, and the scene he'd left in Riverdale had his fingerprints all over it. FP had been as convinced as Archie that Jughead hadn't made it out of the trailer alive when they'd believed Keller would find his remains any time, but never once had he believed for a second that Jughead's body was among those retrieved from the house explosion. FP knew Brand's type; that kind of operator knew a tactical advantage when he had one, and he would have made an effort to hang on to Jughead if there was any conceivable long game.

FP could think of several likely games, some of which kept him awake at night, and he had every confidence that Brand had thought of those and more when he'd skipped town and left dual conflagrations to keep anyone from coming after him. After them.

So far FP had been focused on locating Jughead, based on the assumption that Jughead was trying to be found. However, as he rode the interminable buses back from Baltimore to Riverdale after another dead end, FP began to consider the merits of changing tacks. If Jughead was trying to get a message home, he'd most likely have gotten it out by now. No; FP was starting to think he needed to look for Brand and assume that Jughead was cooperating, however unwillingly, with whatever scheme Brand had cooked up to keep his son occupied and close to hand.

Searching for Brand required a very different strategy. FP would start by checking out the power vacuum that Blossom's death had left in Montreal. There would be plenty of opportunities in the scramble for position there, and a second person to keep watch at night would have been enough reason for Brandon to keep Jughead alive, and to take him along.

It was a possibility. That had to be enough for now.

**00000**

"Jones," Brand summoned Jughead from his room the day after his enigmatic job for Jameson. "Training. Five minutes."

Jughead stretched. He'd been studying and was ready for a break. It had gone smoothly when they trained together earlier in the week, so Jughead wasn't worried - and was actually eager to learn more. He noted the time and finished reading his current chapter before heading downstairs.

"Can we try-," Jughead stopped in his tracks on the stairs down into the basement when he realized that he and Brand were not alone. "Hey, what's going on?"

"This is Derek and this is Roy," Brand introduced two imposing men who were dressed to spar. "Roy owes me a favor," the man scowled but didn't disagree, "and Derek might be working with us for a while if things work out. Ready to learn about evening up the odds?"

Jughead frowned but nodded. "Better late than never?"

"I think you mean 'Fool me twice, shame on me,'" Brand replied.

"Or he meant to distract you with wordplay and waste our time," Roy was clearly not thrilled with the whole scenario.

Jughead could relate: he definitely wasn't thrilled when Roy's aggressive words caused Brand to grin.

"Let's just start by seeing if you have good instincts for fighting two people at once," Brand clapped Jughead on the shoulder. "Have at."

Jughead sized up the situation quickly. Both men outweighed him, and his best bet was to make sure he only had to deal with them one at a time, as much as possible. That meant finding a strategic position or getting one of the men to drop out of the fight quickly.

Before Jughead could decide what either of those scenarios might entail, Derek made a grab for his left arm. Jughead moved out of range - and stepped right into Roy's ready grip.

"That was just embarrassing, Jones," Brand moved forward to replace Roy, who shoved Jughead roughly to the middle of the room and then moved to the staircase to watch. "Again."

This time Jughead lashed out first, dropping low and sweeping his feet under Derek. It threw the taller man off balance, and Jughead swiftly pivoted - and Brand's hands slammed him to the floor.

"This might take a while," Brand waved Derek out and Roy replaced him.

Jughead got back on his feet, looking from Brand to Roy, and beginning to wonder if this was meant to be teaching… or a lesson. Either way, he wasn't prepared to keep taking abuse indefinitely. He tried not to telegraph his quick scan of the room.

There were small hand weights just behind Roy, and Jughead made a quick feint and lunge to reach them.

"Hey!" Roy was taken by surprise when it became clear that Jughead was not actually going for him, but instead for a weapon. "So you're not an idiot."

Jughead was startled by Roy's words and in that moment Brand got in range - but Jughead realized he wasn't guarding his right side properly and drove his left fist, holding a five-pound hand weight, into the gap in his guardian's defenses.

"Apparently not," Brand gasped in pain. That would leave a mark. "'How far the little candle throws his beams.' This time, Jones, that _is_ Shakespeare."

Jughead didn't bother responding to their running joke, opting instead to stay fully on guard. He knew only too well that Brand tended to give as good as he got. Remaining in a tense, defensive posture, Jughead waited for the next configuration: Derek and Roy, while Brand watched.

"Hang on, Derek," Brand's feral smile had apparently returned from four months in retirement. "I want another go."

This time Roy just watched.

When Brandon's pinching grip on Jughead's arm seemed to send lightning through his limb, forcing him to drop the weight and bend forward in submission, it seemed like this round of sparring would be over quickly.

It wasn't.

Brand finally finished toying with Jughead and pinned him securely on the floor, but didn't let up until he had clamped one hand painfully over the teen's throat to emphasize that he was entirely helpless.

Roy spoke up. "Done showing off?"

"Ah, I've missed this," Brand shoved down on Jughead's spine one last time before letting him up from the floor. "Again."

As he stumbled to his feet, Jughead resisted the urge to massage his throat where Brand had grabbed him. He was going to need both hands ready for whatever came at him next.

"Hey, hey-," Brand's tone suddenly changed from vicious to concerned. "If we're going to have a prayer of going up against Jameson, you're going to need to breathe, kid."

Only then did Jughead realize he was gasping for air. His quick self-assessment didn't immediately indicate whether he was having a panic attack or was simply recovering from Brand's violent chokehold. It probably didn't matter.

Brand managed to sling an arm around Jughead's shoulders even as he moved away to evade his godfather. "Through your nose. Come on, breathe with me."

"This is your ringer?" Derek's eyes were wide with disbelief as he leaned forward from where he'd sat on the basement stairs. "We are so screwed."

Brand shot him a death glare. "You'd better hope not. He's the best chance we've got if I'm right that Jameson's setting him up."

Jughead shot his guardian a bewildered look.

"We'll discuss it later, Jones." Brand considered his charge for a moment and took a step away, dropping his arm from Jughead's shoulders. "Can you still fight when you're breathing like that?"

Jughead didn't answer, not wanting to waste what little breath he had; he knew his response was unlikely to influence what Brand did next.

"Let's find out, eh? Derek, get in here with Roy."

Jughead would later remember only bits and pieces from the nightmarish training that followed.

"Well, that's more like it," Derek nodded approvingly to Brand when the training was finished, as he gathered his stuff to leave. "He just needed a push."

"Come back in a few days and we'll give him another one," Brand replied. Derek waved in acknowledgement and left the basement.

"Someday you're going to tell me how you got this much luck in exchange for your filthy, debauched soul," Roy punched Brand lightly in the shoulder. "This kid just might get 'er done. I'll get a house set up next week in case you need a second location later on. Least I can do, considering."

Roy had indeed been the one to mention Jones in passing to a colleague of Jameson's, setting in motion the power play that had centered on the teenager. Brand had ultimately decided that the clash with Jameson had been inevitable, under the circumstances, but that didn't make him hesitate to take advantage of Roy's guilty conscience.

"Sounds good." Brand watched Roy leave. "You hear that, Jones? I do believe you've made some friends tonight."

Jughead glared from the corner where he'd ultimately ended up, taking all comers as they rotated and each current non-combatant shouted advice from the sidelines. He'd learned more about his body's ability to absorb blows than how to take out multiple opponents, but toward the end when he'd begun running more and more on instinct and the men's feedback had morphed from exasperated corrections into appreciative shouts, he'd felt the difference in his body as well. Something had changed, and he'd been able to keep his feet longer than he'd thought possible.

Jughead's ability to stand was melting away quickly, though, as adrenaline was replaced by awareness of pain - too much pain.

"Let's get you to the shower and bed," Brand approached Jughead warily, maintaining eye contact and knowing he was likely to earn a hit if he wasn't careful. "I've got you." Brand reached down to scoop Jughead off of his now-trembling legs. "Feels good to hit those limits hard, doesn't it? Satisfying."

Jughead didn't even have enough energy left to reflect on how wrong it was when he instinctively relaxed into Brand's hold - recognized through the haze of pain and exhaustion that he was safe there. He was out cold before Brand had carried him up the basement stairs.

**00000**

**I hope you are having a good start to the week!**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Aaaand, Chapter Five! Hopefully this one posts without a glitch. Enjoy!**

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**00000**

Alice was thrilled to finally be back in Toronto - a sentence she'd never imagined forming, even in her mind - and it was Thursday. Much as she'd joked about surprising Jonas at his house, it seemed more poetic to orchestrate meeting up in the bookstore where they'd originally met.

The bookstore's warm light made the rows of books look more inviting than ever, and Alice settled in for a wait near the true crime books that seemed to have a hold on her enigmatic new friend. She spotted a copy of the book that had enthralled him and started to page through it.

"Excuse me." An older man interrupted Alice's examination of the book. "Do you have any recommendations? Something like that book?" The stranger gestured to the book in Alice's hands.

"Um," Alice looked around the busy bookstore; she was the only one in this section, though, and the logical person to ask for recommendations. "Sure, I guess. What are you interested in?"

"It's not for me," The man explained. "That's why I need recommendations. I know what he's got on his shelves, but I don't know what's good that he doesn't already own."

"Huh," Alice nodded, warming to the challenge. "Let's see… birthday? You probably want to get something hardcover." She began to look for the coffee-table-sized, photo-heavy volume she'd want someone to buy for her if they were paying.

"Nah, paperbacks are fine," the man shook his head, running a hand over the shelf as he skimmed titles. "He's not feeling great. I want to bring home some books for while he's out of commission."

"Okay," Alice recalibrated her search, absently wondering if the books were for a partner or husband to the rugged man she was chatting with. "It's sweet of you to buy him books."

"Sweet," the man echoed dubiously.

"Thoughtful," Alice offered since he seemed not to like her word choice. "What about this one?" Alice handed the man a paperback.

"He's got this one."

"This one?" Alice offered another book to him while pulling a third off of the shelf. "Ooh, this one looks good too."

"Okay, that one doesn't look familiar," the man accepted the third book. "What other genres would be good for a big reader of crime non-fiction? I think he's got too many of these; I'm going to have trouble finding enough in this section."

"What does he like?" Alice was enjoying helping to assemble the care package. She'd just have to keep an eye out in case Jonas arrived while she was helping this guy pick out books.

"This kind of thing is what he reads for fun, and he's got a reading list for college that he's working through. I wanted to get him pleasure reading if possible, but now I'm worried he's read too many of these."

"Pleasure reading is better since he's sick," Alice agreed. "Maybe stick with non-fiction, but about disasters? Shipwrecks? It's not true crime, but I've always thought it's the next best thing. Survival stories."

"That might be right up his alley," the man lit up appreciatively. "Thanks. Do you know where I'd find those? Or I can just ask-," he gestured toward the people who worked at the bookstore.

"Yeah, they might be better help. I'm actually meeting someone here. Good luck, though," Alice smiled. She returned to skimming her book, but looked up on occasion to see the man adding books to an increasingly impressive stack.

Jonas still hadn't arrived when the man paid for more than a dozen books. As he was leaving the bookstore, Alice called out to him. "Hey, good luck. And I'm sorry-," she gestured at the two large bags he was carrying. "He must be really sick. I hope he gets better soon."

"Thanks," the man nodded as he pushed through the door. "I appreciate the help."

"His kid's a regular," one of the bookstore employees had noticed the exchange. "They are quite the pair. I bet there isn't even chicken soup in the house, and I doubt the kid will care one bit after he sees those books."

Alice grinned at this characterization. Against all odds, this was starting to seem like a fun community to get to know. She returned once again to the book that was just starting to get good. Hopefully Jonas would turn up soon.

**00000**

Jughead was considering the pros and cons of moving all the way out of his bedroom to draw a hot bath to soothe his throbbing muscles. His ribs seemed to protest the idea before he even attempted to move, and he eyed the painkillers next to his bed.

Brand had been surprised to discover how much damage he and his friends had inflicted during their latest enthusiastic training session earlier in the week. Jughead had been a lot less surprised by that; instead, his surprise had come when he discovered that 'just' bruising could be this painful.

"I've got pizza," Brand's voice carried up the stairs as the front door opened and shut. "Don't move; I'm coming up."

Brand balanced two plates loaded with pizza and carried a gallon of water. "Drink up," Brand set the full gallon beside an empty one and Jughead's bedside cup. "You'll be feeling better in a day or two, but only if your system has enough to rebuild with."

"I'm going to take a bath, too," Jughead obediently opened the new gallon of water and poured a cupful.

"Not today," Brand set one of the plates of pizza on the bed next to his battered charge. "That could make any swelling worse. Give it another two days and then you can try it out."

Jughead sighed, his gaze returning to the painkillers.

"Have you needed those today?" Brand noticed the longing look. He had procured the bottle the morning after they had trained, when Jughead had awoken in agonizing spasms and been unable to stand. "You want to go easy on them."

"I didn't take any today," Jughead had been terrified by the severity of the spasms that had seized his body and refused to let him go, but once the worst of that had passed his fear of being drugged tipped the scales away from further dosing with the pills. He did miss the relief, though.

"Good," Brand chewed on his own pizza. "I got you some books."

Jughead hadn't realized that Brand was gone longer than was typical for getting pizza, but that was just one more reminder that his body and mind were disoriented by the fevered pace of training and recovery - then more training.

"If I'm looking better in a couple days I can get my own." When they had discovered very obvious bruising around Jughead's throat one morning the decision had been made to keep him indoors until that head-turning visual faded. Jughead had been antsy in the house since then, and could only guess at what books his godfather had bought for him to read. He wasn't overly enthusiastic about finding out.

"I'll get them for you," Brand left Jughead sprawled on the bed. His position looked awkward, but Brand figured it was probably the least uncomfortable position he'd been able to find.

The bags of books were on the floor in the kitchen, and Brand grabbed them and returned to Jones' room.

"So, I had a little help picking these out-," Brand gently tipped the bags onto the bed so the books spilled out but wouldn't knock against Jughead's bruised ribs. "Anything you think you'd read?"

Jughead was shocked. "You bought me twelve - fifteen - books?"

"I wasn't sure what you would want," Brand shrugged but couldn't hide that he was pleased with himself. "What do you think?"

"_Death Raft_?" Jughead picked up the top paperback. It looked cheap, like a dime store novel.

"That one might be boring," Brand reached to take it. "Apparently it's a lot of history and it's more about the survivors than the shipwreck itself. The guys at the bookstore thought you would like _In The Heart of the Sea_ better."

"Wait, this is a true story?" Jughead pulled the dramatically illustrated book out of Brand's reach. "Nuh-uh, I'm hanging onto this one. Who helped you pick these out?"

Jughead was quickly sifting through the titles, a grin unexpectedly lighting him up as he realized the other books were more of the same. "Whoa - this tsunami memoir looks heavy. Hurricane Katrina, tornadoes, volcanoes, earthquakes, more earthquakes, wildfires - and hey, fire jumpers. Wait, isn't the Edmund Fitzgerald a song?"

"I can see I didn't buy these a moment too soon," Brand shot Jughead a look. "It's a song about a shipwreck."

"Yeah, but I didn't know it was real. Just… oddly specific." Jughead was reading the back of the book with interest. "Shipwrecks happen in lakes?"

"Are you serious?" Brand sat down on the bed, shifting a couple of books out of the way. "The Great Lakes are full of shipwrecks. Some aren't all that far from here, though I wouldn't recommend early spring for wreck diving."

Jughead stopped reading the back of his book and looked up with interest. "Wreck diving? When exactly would you recommend it?"

"Let's save that idea for summer, kid," Brand hadn't considered a vacation, but in this moment he wasn't sure why he hadn't. "It would be educational, though, wouldn't it?"

"Extremely educational," Jughead's grin widened and, despite the lines of pain and worry that didn't quite disappear from his face, he suddenly looked a lot younger than his passport claimed. In fact, this was the happiest Brand had ever seen him.

"Well, do you want to read about the Edmund Fitzgerald, or do you want to hear the story of the Lady Elgin?" Brand took a big bite of his pizza, nodding for Jughead to finish his own dinner.

"Who's she?"

"Ach, you're killing me." Brand shook his head when Jughead's renewed grin revealed that he was joking. "We could actually dive that wreck, so listen up," Brand began telling one of his favorite blends of history and legend.

**00000**

Brand had told Jughead a number of stories as they came to mind, and then gathered the mound of books to move them off of the bed. He knew there was one conversation they still needed to have, though, and sooner than later.

"Jameson's probably going to be in touch with me soon," Brand had begun stacking the new paperbacks within easy reach of the bed and spoke casually. He figured there would be plenty to work through later, so he might as well lead in nice and easy. "He's had some issues recently, and he thinks you can help him with them."

"Me? I'm done, Brand," Jughead shook his head. "Is this what you were talking about when we were training before? Tell him we're squared away. You said yourself that everything went smoothly."

"The scotch says otherwise," Brand stated flatly, and finished adjusting the pile of books so it would not topple easily. He straightened up and gave Jones his full attention. "If Jameson gives you a 'bonus,' that means he expects an encore performance. If you also happen to be someone a…" Brand seemed to search for a word before going on, "a colleague has said is off limits, then he's making a threat."

Jughead's muscles tensed, and his immediate grimace showed it was painful to move even that much.

"It's not actually a threat against you," Brand regretted his reassuring words when Jughead relaxed. This was not a time for letting down his guard. "I mean, he wants you dead, don't get me wrong. It's just not about you. He wants to punish me for coming to Toronto, and my guess is he thinks putting you in the line of fire is the easiest way of sending a message."

"Line of fire?" Jones looked more confused than worried. "Really, Brand? That sounds kind of…"

"I've been doing this for a while, Jones," Brand was taken aback. He had anticipated any number of responses, but never one of sincere disbelief. "He's not being subtle, either. We're going to turn the tables on him, though, and that's why we've been training so hard. If things go right, we'll take this territory away from Jameson."

"Brand," Jones' tone was annoyed now. "I'm not going to help with your power play, and you aren't going to get me on board with some elaborate story-,"

"Let's discuss this when you're feeling better," Brand frowned. This was an unexpected setback. He'd thought they would begin discussing strategy right away.

'He would pick this moment to act his age,' Brand regarded Jones. He was still lying in the awkward position that indicated he was in pain and favoring his left side.

Brand sighed. He would have to figure this out, but in the meantime Jones needed to get his feet under him with their new training regimen. They had some time. He hoped it was enough.

**00000**

"Dad, I'm going too," Archie was so impassioned that Fred almost missed it when he stifled a yawn. "School is on break, and-,"

"You're half asleep," Fred spoke gently to his son. He was saving harsher words for FP, after he'd gotten Archie to bed. "Let's talk about this after you've had a good night of sleep."

"But Dad-," Archie saw Fred's hand move into the gesture he'd used since Archie was small for 'not right now,' and stopped himself. "Okay, fine. We're talking about this tomorrow morning, though. Before you go to work. This is something I have to do."

"We'll discuss it all then, Arch," Fred watched as Archie stretched and padded off barefoot toward his bedroom.

FP avoided eye contact with Fred when his friend turned to face him squarely.

"Montreal, huh?" Fred's anger was only veiled by his sarcasm. "I'm sure this is all about the latest 'tip' that was called in, and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Blossom was shipping drugs there and a criminal might find a real friendly group to fall in with - one that might need a few more warm bodies right about now. Right?"

"Fred, Archie surprised me as much as you. He doesn't think Jughead is alive, so how could I have guessed he'd want to-,"

"I didn't hear much discouragement coming from you," Fred interrupted. "Whatever you're thinking, don't. He's not going, and I'm gonna need you to tell him that in the morning."

"I'll leave before then," FP shrugged at Fred's frustrated expression. "What? It'll be easier for everyone."

"I'll go get him so you can tell him tonight," Fred shook his head and sighed deeply. "Just talk to people, FP. Let them help, and sometimes actually have those difficult conversations. Not just with Archie." Fred searched FP's eyes. "If you find him, there's going to be more than a few of them. Consider this practice."

This time FP broke eye contact.

Fred turned to call Archie back. He didn't like the idea of FP hitting the road so quickly after getting back from Baltimore, and he really didn't like the idea he had of why FP was heading to Montreal. This part he could manage, though: Archie would be nowhere near that particular mess in the making.

**00000**

Alice was disappointed when Jonas never showed up at the bookstore. She wondered if he was okay, or if he'd perhaps had had another 'attack' while she was visiting Riverdale with her mother and then back in school.

By the time she gave up and left the bookstore, it was too late in the evening to drop by his house. Alice was also reluctant to just turn up, and was beginning to second guess herself about Jonas' attitude toward spending time with her.

Her dad also wanted to spend more time with Alice during this visit, so she figured it would be a few more days before she could drop in on Jonas - and by then it would be the weekend. She had to leave on Sunday.

Making friends without being able to use technology to communicate was frustrating. And confusing.

Which gave her an idea.

As Alice neared Jonas' house, she rifled through her bag from the bookstore. She had bought the book she'd been enjoying on his recommendation, and she pulled the title page from the book with only slight regret at damaging the book. This would hopefully be worth it.

Alice crouched and scribbled out a note on the title page: 'Not half bad. Park on the 31st, when I'm back in town?' The date was the next weekend she'd be in Toronto; both of her parents had been surprised but glad when she'd expressed interest in visiting her father more often. She added her phone number, figuring Jonas would crack and at least text if he couldn't make it.

The house had a mail slot in the door, and she tucked the page through so it fell to the floor inside of the house.

Alice smiled as she walked on to her dad's house, pleased with the idea. 'Your move, Jonas.'

**00000**

Jughead felt mostly recovered by Saturday as his muscles continued to relax from the initial spasms, but he was still sore as he made his way down the stairs.

Brand had been holed up in his own room quite a bit since their talk on Thursday, E-mailing or plotting or whatever it was one did when making plans to wrest a city from a criminal. Jughead didn't want to know, and so he moved quietly down to the kitchen to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.

Grasping the bannister, Jughead made his way cautiously to the bottom of the staircase. He poured some cereal into a bowl and started the bread toasting, and then his eyes slid over to a piece of paper against the wall by the door.

Jughead abandoned his food and walked over to the door. He scooped up the piece of paper and unfolded it.

That was when his heart began to race. "Alice," he breathed, pocketing the page and its message.

Jughead moved back toward where his toast had popped up from the toaster. He would just eat that - quickly - and bring the cereal back to his room. Get rid of this note before Brand could-

"Jones," Brand's footfalls on the staircase startled Jughead badly. "How are you feeling?"

Brandon entered the kitchen and took in Jughead leaning against the counter, with the untouched toast and cereal.

"Looks like you're not back to normal quite yet," Brand observed. "Let's get you back to bed. I'll bring the rest of this up there for you," Brandon walked over to Jughead and picked up his cereal, gesturing for the teen to lead him up the stairs.

Jughead rolled his eyes, but didn't trust himself to speak as his breathing picked up speed. He could feel the note in his pocket, now crinkling as he moved.

"Breathe with me," Brand had noticed Jughead's quick breaths by the time they got to Jughead's room. Jughead hoped that distracted him from any indication of guilt that might be written on his face. "Jones," Brand grabbed him by the chin to force eye contact, "I said breathe with me."

Oh, yeah.

Jughead matched his breathing to Brand's slower pace, ignoring the familiar burning as his lungs demanded a faster rate. Unfortunately, his heart seemed to be refusing to slow down as long as his godfather was in the room.

"I'm thinking take it easy on the stairs," Brand declared, his eyes narrowed in consternation. Jughead knew this was yet another hiccup in Brand's plan to make Jughead a secret weapon. At least he wasn't angry, though. Or suspicious.

Jughead hadn't fully thought through what kind of fire he'd been playing with when he'd met Alice, made friends, and started making plans. Somehow, outside of the row house, it had seemed separate and safe. It was suddenly, abundantly, painfully clear that he'd been fooling himself. Endangering Alice. He needed to undo this right away, before anything else happened.

And, just like that, Jughead's breathing eased.

He had a plan. This would work. It had to.

"There you go, kid," Brand stepped back from Jughead's position on the bed. "Get some sleep. We'll try the stairs again tomorrow; you'll be a new man."

Jughead nodded, not making eye contact. "Thanks, Brand."

He didn't dare move the note until Brand had returned to his own room, and then he only took it out in order to fold it again and jam it into one of the books next to his bed and bury it under other books.

There was only one thing he could do at this point, Jughead realized: he was going to have to get Alice to leave him alone for good.

**00000**

**I hope you have a good start to June! As always, I really enjoy reading your reviews, so I hope you will drop me a note if you are able. :)**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Heyyy, another chapter is done! I hope you enjoy. :)**

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**00000**

FP had connected with one of his friends in the Montreal area and sketched out a general plan for gathering information about Brand and any news that might be circulating about him.

Jones had a place to stay, and his favorite local bar had plenty of promising leads after just an hour of shooting the breeze. It would have been smooth sailing if he hadn't spotted a disaster in process at the bar.

"What are you doing?" FP placed a firm hand on the credit card that had been sliding across the bar to pay for a generous helping of pub fries.

Archie Andrews' eyes were comically wide, considering how conspicuous he was in this crowd. "Uh, I couldn't just let you leave without-,"

"I mean with the credit card," FP interrupted. "I can see for myself that you must have stowed away with me, but are you trying to bring your father here, guns blazing, to spook everyone for miles around?"

Archie withdrew the credit card, eyeing the bartender nervously as he did so.

"I've got it." FP shook his head wearily. "Go sit over there, and we'll discuss this later. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes, sir," Archie scooped up the fries and hurried to the table FP had indicated.

'One more thing to worry about,' FP couldn't help but admire Archie's gumption, but this was not something he'd anticipated. Wondering for just a moment whether he should have let the credit card transaction go through, making Archie Fred's problem once again, FP dismissed the idea. He needed to keep a low profile.

Archie's red hair caught FP's eye as he settled back down to his beer, making him wince at exactly how not-subtle the memorable teen would be around here. This was not the groundwork he would have laid if he'd known Archie would be along. He'd figure it out, though, out of necessity if nothing else. FP returned to his conversation with several locals, but quickly noticed their curious looks in the direction of the underage, broadly grinning teenager devouring fries with gusto.

FP made a snap decision. He could just run with the situation, play the wild card, and see how it went. "Hey, Archie? Join us. Meet some of the guys."

"Really? You mean it?" Archie saw FP's expression and his tone quickly changed from exuberant to subdued as he picked up his fries to relocate one more time. "I mean, sure, FP. Cool. That sounds… cool."

The plan of just running with the situation suddenly seemed terrible again. FP could only hope his companions had a sense of humor about the teenager; it was looking like they might need it.

**00000**

"Okay; let's see a few more like that!" Brand pulled Jughead's ear protection slightly in order to be heard. "You're getting the hang of it."

Jughead gave Brand a tight smile in response, mostly in an effort to chill out the people working at the gun range who were eyeing him. Jughead was mostly recovered from the latest round of training, but particularly as time passed and he tried to come up with a plan for getting rid of Alice before she showed up on the doorstep he shared with Brandon, his panic attacks seemed ready to return at a moment's notice these days - which was part of Brand's reasoning in taking up firearms training as a break from their more physical training.

Jughead couldn't blame the workers for their nervous hovering. Someone who was unsteady while holding a loaded handgun was innately dangerous, and not just to himself.

Raising the gun, Jughead tried to calm his breathing and was gratified when he exhaled slowly while drawing the trigger back - and saw a tight grouping take shape down range.

"Nice!" This time Brand didn't touch Jughead's ear protection, opting instead to bellow at him. "You've got one more in there!"

Oh. That's probably why he didn't touch the ear muffs. Jughead raised the gun once more and sent the final round flying. He shot a quick glance around to make sure nobody else was about to start firing before he slid the ear muffs down around his neck.

"Enough for today?" Brand dropped an arm across Jughead's tired shoulders. "I don't think you'll embarrass us, but we can come back for more practice. You've got a knack, kid."

This time Jughead's smile wasn't for the benefit of the employees. "Sounds good, Brand. Can I try something a little bigger?" The nine mil was comfortable, but the .45 that Brand carried looked different enough to be intriguing.

"Watch me first," Brand nodded, "but I don't see why not."

They swapped places, and Brand's swift shots put Jughead's respectable marksmanship to shame - and sent him scrambling to replace his ear protection.

"Here, kid," Brand handed the larger handgun to his charge. "Reload and give it a shot. It's got a lot more kick."

"I can tell," Jughead was grinning now as he reached for the ammo.

It was another forty minutes before they began packing up to leave the range.

"That was great, Brand," Jughead readily expressed his enthusiasm - after so much being out of his control, _this_ was a fun hobby.

Brand answered with a small smile. "I'm glad you like it. Happy birthday, Jonas."

Jughead's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" It wasn't his birthday. Or maybe it was. He'd have to check the passport, but he had a feeling that was one of the details that Brand kept track of. He'd have to start remembering that himself. And maybe figure out when Brand's birthday fell. Jughead's smile persisted all the way home.

**00000**

Fred texted FP back one last time before he finally gave up and started getting ready for bed.

It hadn't taken a rocket scientist to figure out where Archie had disappeared off to, and Fred honestly believed FP's explanation was true: that it had been Archie stowing away and not some sort of an agreement between those two.

Archie's phone vibrated on the kitchen island yet again, where Fred had set it after locating it in Archie's bedroom that morning. Apparently more people missed him.

Fred massaged his eyes. He'd exhausted his anger with Archie and FP and was finally feeling ready to wash his hands of the whole thing and let the chips fall as they would. He could only do so much - Archie was nearly an adult now, and was apparently perfectly comfortable breaking international law. Oh, his passport was missing along with him, but he clearly hadn't produced it at the border entering Canada.

FP apparently thought he had it all handled, and while his texts indicated that he was more amused than Fred, there was a hint of irritation in some of his phrasing. Fred found that perversely satisfying.

Locking the front door, Fred was turning toward the stairs when a knock startled him. He groped for the door with a speed that belied his apparent resignation about Archie's actions.

"Mr. Andrews?" Betty stood on the doorstep, looking intensely reluctant. "Is Archie here? Veronica hasn't been able to get him on his phone and asked me to check in."

Fred sighed. FP had asked him not to tell anyone about Archie's whereabouts 'to make things easier at the border,' whatever that meant. "He's taken off with a friend, Betty, and I am not sure exactly where he is," Fred shrugged and his tone radiated anger. "He left his phone here. I'm sorry he worried you and Veronica; he worried me too." Fred softened his tone, seeing Betty's obvious distress. "Is there anything that I can help you with?"

Betty shook her head, but her expression was shifting from concerned to shocked, and to Fred's horror a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Hey, Betty," Fred looked around himself in the hallway, not sure what assistance he thought he'd find there. A box of tissues; great. "Here, have some kleenex."

Betty took a tissue swiftly, using it to partially cover her face as she wiped away the tears that were now falling in force. "I'm - I'm sorry, Mr. Andrews," Betty's hands were visibly shaking. "He just… left? Without his phone?"

"He'll be back, Betty," Fred hadn't had a chance to talk to Betty in quite some time - he could tell that she was avoiding him, though he was not entirely certain of her reasons for doing so - but he was fully cognizant of why Betty was reacting so strongly now. Fred hurried to give as much explanation as he could. "I expect he'll be back in just a few days. He needed to get out of town, but not away from you or Veronica or anything. He's coming back as soon as he can."

Betty turned away slightly, poised to flee as the tears apparently refused to abate. Her horror at her own reaction was obvious.

"It's okay," Fred tried to reassure Betty. "I was pretty angry with him this morning. He knows better. You should be angry with him too."

"You _know_ he's okay?" Betty looked up then, her eyes hard even as the tears continued. "You are one hundred percent sure that he's fine and that he'll be back in a few days?"

"Betty…" Fred knew that his own grief over Jughead's disappearance was deep, paternal, and would not easily heal. He knew that Betty's grief was entirely different, and that all of the conversations he'd had with FP or with Archie over the previous months might well be useless to a girl mourning her boyfriend - and whose friend had disappeared so callously and without warning. "You know what?" Fred threw his hands up. "Screw it. I have no idea what to tell you. This whole thing is just so... Do you want some ice cream? I've got some in the freezer. You can take it home with you; it's homemade. That's honestly likely to be the best I've got for you right now."

Betty gave a choked laugh through her flood of tears. "No, Mr. Andrews. No ice cream. But thanks." Betty looked pensive for a moment. "I'm sorry Archie left you, too."

"Yeah," Fred gave her a wry smile. "I'm glad you came over to check on him. You're a good friend."

Betty seemed to finally reach the last of her tears, wiping them away impatiently. "I'm trying to be a better one."

This time Fred knew how to respond: "I know. I am too." They stood in silent solidarity for a few moments before Fred continued. "Go let Veronica know; I'll call when I know more about this joyride of Archie's."

"Okay. Thanks." Betty waved as she left the porch.

Fred took a deep breath and released it slowly as he waited to see Betty safely to her door. It seemed like there were a lot of different ways to lose someone, but apparently in this case the common denominator was guilt. It was depressing, but Fred couldn't help but think that he at least deserved to feel that guilt.

Closing the door, Fred wondered where his own passport was. Maybe it was time he made a trip too.

**00000**

Jughead sat in the kitchen, companionably sharing the space with Brand. He was reading a book about diving for shipwrecks in the Great Lakes when the phone call came.

Brand grabbed the phone without giving it his full attention, standing up from his laptop as he did so. Jughead was used to him taking phone calls out of the room and barely noticed.

"Hey, Jones. It's for you."

Jughead's head snapped up in shock. This was unprecedented: Brand held the phone out to him. 'Betty - Archie-' Jughead tried to stop the rolling waves of irrational hope and expectation, but couldn't think of anyone else who would be looking for him. Unless Alice had somehow -

"Jameson has a job for you." The voice on the phone was male and Jughead couldn't place it. Whether that was because he actually didn't recognize the voice or because his heart was suddenly pounding so hard that he could barely hear anything else, he could not tell.

"But I-," Jughead saw Brand sharply shake his head at him even as his own protest died in his throat. Even without Brand's coaching, he knew that there was only one answer. "What is it?"

"Brand's got an address for you." The phone disconnected.

"He said you've got an address," Jughead held the phone out to Brand in a shaking hand.

Brand looked down at his laptop. "You've got mail," he intoned. "Believe me now about Jameson?" Brand took the phone back. "Breathe. You're as ready as you're going to get."

"And I'm just _completely_ reassured by your confidence in me," Jughead grimaced at Brand.

"Eh, you love me for my honesty," Brand waved a hand dismissively at Jughead. "Don't make threats or they'll shoot you. Don't turn your back to anyone. Come back alive. So simple that even you can handle it."

Jughead folded his arms. "Is that why we've been training two against one? Because it's so simple?"

"Train for the job you want, not the job you have," Brand pointed to the staircase. "Now go rest up. They don't want you early, but they'll want you looking bright eyed and bushy-whatevered."

Jughead sighed but obeyed, picking up his books and heading toward bed. Strange, his hands had stopped shaking and he hadn't even noticed.

Brand dropped by Jughead's bedroom twenty minutes later, leaning against the doorframe and considering his charge. "Hey. Don't worry about tomorrow. You'll be fine."

Jughead was lying on his bed with a book, trying to distract himself enough to start falling asleep. He returned Brand's studying gaze with a thoughtful one of his own. His tone was vulnerable when he responded. "Do you really think so?"

"I've got your back, kid," Brand nodded once, firmly. "I'd appreciate it if you don't screw things up, but no matter what happens - I'll come for you."

Jughead stared at Brand warily. It felt true. It felt safe. "Okay. I'll hold you to that."

"You got it." Brand nodded once more before heading to his own bedroom.

Jughead yawned. Suddenly he felt like he could sleep.

**00000**

It was only a few hours later when all hell broke loose.

Jughead woke up when he heard glass shattering downstairs. As he tried to process what the noise had been that woke him up, he heard Brand's feet pounding angrily down the hallway past his door.

'Did someone break in?' Jughead wanted to smile at the idea of some ill-fated petty criminal trying to steal from Brand, but his instincts already had him silently on his feet and moving toward his bedroom door. Downstairs had become eerily quiet, and an irritated Brand was not often quiet.

Jughead eased his bedroom door open and slipped softly toward the stairs. Without his bedroom door to muffle sound, he could hear voices talking in low tones.

The voices finally made sense when Jughead reached the stairs; he could hear Brand talking.

"He's not here. I've got him working with a friend tonight."

"All right, then." An unfamiliar voice responded, and Jughead could hear several people moving downstairs. "You're the one we need to settle things with, anyway."

Jughead's forehead knit as he considered this information. Of all the players he knew of in Brand's plot, he didn't think that Jameson would make a move against Brand since Jughead was going to be working with him the very next day - and a rival group that disliked Brand for unrelated reasons seemed like too many players to even consider - so maybe this was a group that was loyal to Jameson and suspected Brand's plan to stage a coup? That made some sense, particularly if there was any way that they knew about Jughead's summons for the following day.

That was all helpful to consider, but Jughead dearly wished he could trade that insight for an accurate count of how many people were in their row house.

"I'm not sure why Jameson thinks you walk on water. This is pathetic home defense." A new voice traveled up the stairs.

Jughead amended his earlier assessment: maybe these people were loyal to Jameson and jealous of Brand? He had to update his estimated headcount as well; this sounded like it was at least three against one.

A sudden image flashed into Jughead's mind: Brand's .45, likely unloaded but definitely handy in his room. If he shot that anywhere in the house, safely aimed away from any human target, a neighbor would definitely call the police. The intruders would abandon their plan. Jughead began slipping back toward the bedrooms.

Sounds of a struggle suddenly began, and Jughead froze.

"Nobody's going to find your body when we're done with you."

No time for plan A, then.

Jughead felt a counterintuitive sense of relief when his well trained instincts took over and he was halfway down the stairs before the next logical thought entered his mind. Even then, it was simply: 'Four guys. All right, then.'

At the sound of Jughead entering the scene, Brand's head whipped around where he was being hustled through the living room at gunpoint. "They're armed! Get _down_, Jones!"

Jughead obediently ducked while launching himself low and fiercely at the legs of the man closest to him.

A gun went off.

Jughead felt a knee pop as his shoulder made brutal contact with legs.

A sickening crunch came from Brand's general direction.

Someone brought the butt of a gun down on Jughead, missing his skull by scant inches as he twisted away, and slamming it into his right shoulder instead. When Jughead's shoulder screamed in so much pain that his vision exploded into color, he realized two things: first, his trainings with Brand had definitely not been full-on fights, and second, that if a blow like that actually _did_ hit his head... he might not get up again.

"Do _not_ fire another weapon!" Someone commanded hoarsely.

Jughead was now half pinned under the tangle of legs he'd apparently damaged badly, so he grabbed the arm that had hit him with a gun and pulled blindly in an attempt to throw that unknown attacker off balance.

Another window shattered as someone was thrown violently from the house.

"Let's go. Now!" The hoarse voice signaled the end of the home invasion.

Jughead jerked backward when unfamiliar hands reached toward him, but they landed on the man whose knee he'd injured and hauled him out of the row home instead.

Jughead and Brand were abruptly left alone in the house, panting from exertion.

"Did they shoot you?" Brand's voice was tight.

"No. You?" Jughead responded between gasps for air.

"I wouldn't be asking you if they had," Brand laughed sharply.

Jughead hauled his exhausted body onto the couch and swiped at a lamp. Light flooded their open concept kitchen and living room.

The living room was trashed. The kitchen had a bullet hole through the glass front of the oven. Two large windows were shattered.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

"Jones," Brand walked over and dropped a hand on the teen's uninjured shoulder. "That was impressive."

Jughead slowly released a deep, shuddering breath. "Well, Brand... It was my turn, right?"

This time Brand laughed long and deeply. "You're all right, kid."

**00000**

**Thanks for reading! As always, I'd love to hear from folks about how you're liking the story. Thanks in advance for any reviews!**

**-Button**


	7. Chapter 7

**First, thank you for the Guest review! I enjoyed hearing what stood out to you in the last chapter, and I hope you like this one also. :) **

**Second, thanks to Living Lucid Dream not only for all of the fantastic (inspiring) notes on BCBC, but also for picking up on the question of Brand's motivation for kicking off this sequel by taking Jughead to Toronto. Brand has certainly got a mind of his own... I've been blaming Roy for the way he plays this one close to the vest, but things will become clear in the story as they become clear(er) to Jughead (it makes me nervous even to type that much, though, because these characters LOVE to go rogue).**

**I hope you all continue to enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Brand and Jughead told the police that they'd scared off some anonymous intruders. That they assumed they were thieves who had expected the house to be empty. That they hadn't gotten so much as a good look at them.

The police had given Jughead a careful once-over when they noticed the fading marks on his throat, but they let it drop with his reassurances and confirmation from his passport that he was over eighteen.

After they left, Brand and Jughead brewed coffee. It was five am and they were awake for the day.

"So much for bright eyed," Jughead smiled as he pulled out mugs for them both. He was strangely a lot less nervous about working with Jameson now that the worst had happened and been handled - right on their own home turf. "So what was all that actually about?"

Brand accepted the mug Jughead offered him. "Well… You know and I know that Jameson is marking territory with me. A few others probably know. Most people think I'm being welcomed, though. And if I'm in-"

"They're out?" Jughead frowned thoughtfully, sensing an opportunity. "Hey, if there's a shortage of work to go around, then I can just-"

"Not work. Territory." Brand was reminded yet again that Jones might have some hard-earned instincts for fighting after their months together, but a criminal he was not. "There's a difference."

"Then… am I going to get territory if I work?" Jughead tried to wrap his head around the distinction. "Or is it inherited? Or like a... feudal system?"

"I can't talk about this with you if you're going to say things like that," Brand shot Jughead a look.

"Primogeniture. Fiefdom. Serfs." Jughead grinned at Brand's irritation.

"Now you're just making things up," Brand joked back. He poured himself some coffee while considering Jughead's questions and what exactly he wanted to tell him. "Ideally there's some sort of… heir apparent in these situations."

"But it looks like it might go gavelkind sometimes, and people get nervous?"

"Will you stop saying-" Brand hesitated for a moment. Putting it in terms the kid would be comfortable with was not the worst idea. "Well, okay, maybe. Kind of. But not really." Brand glared at Jughead's apparent amusement. "It's more like a bunch of factions turning on their own."

Jones liked to find humor where he could, which admittedly might help keep the kid sane, but it sometimes had the side effect of him not taking things seriously enough for his own good.

Jughead was still grinning as he poured himself some coffee.

"If you say anything like that to Jameson he'll probably shoot you in the head," Brand warned. "Gavelkind. My god."

"You want me to get into a good college, Brand," Jughead shrugged innocently.

"Yeah, sure, college. Not Westeros."

"A place that might have benefited from some gavelkind-,"

"That's enough." Brand shook his head. "Drink your coffee."

"I might not be bright eyed, but I'll be bushy-whatevered," Jughead lifted his mug of coffee toward Brand in a toast.

Brand smirked and started pulling out eggs and bacon for breakfast. Protein wouldn't hurt, whatever was in store for later that day.

'Gavelkind,' Brand's smirk grew slightly. The kid had a sense of humor that just hit him sideways sometimes. He had to admit it had been quite the bailout the night before, too. Jones might not have any criminal instincts whatsoever, but he was becoming more valuable by the day.

Training a sidekick had never been the plan. Brand could appreciate the obvious advantages, though, now that he was being pushed into more training by Jameson's demands. Plan A was not defunct, either; all they needed was to get through this situation with Jameson before they could return to their regularly scheduled programming. Brand would be keeping a close eye on Jones in the meantime.

He had no intention of losing the kid if he could avoid it.

**00000**

Alice was in Riverdale and bored out of her mind. She was incredibly disappointed that she had missed Jonas in Toronto, and when Veronica had confessed that she'd hoped that Jonas would be around to take Alice to a school event - well, that had made her miss him even more.

Betty and Veronica had been particularly moody lately, since apparently Veronica's boyfriend and Betty's best friend (however that worked) had left town without any warning for some sort of spirit quest having to do with the dead friend nobody wanted to talk about.

Alice couldn't think of much that could be more depressing, and that kept her from wanting any more details. Thankfully she did have another trip to see her dad to look forward to. She recalled the note she'd left, wishing she'd received a text from Jonas but remaining hopeful all the same that he'd meet her at the park.

Entering Pop's Chock'Lit Shoppe, Alice waved when she saw Kevin. He was friends with Betty in particular, though she hadn't had a chance to get to know him well yet. There was an attentive Southside Serpent in the booth with him, who must be the famous Joaquin. Kevin waved back with a smile, and the Serpent looked over indulgently but without much apparent interest in the new girl.

"Want to sit with us?" Kevin invited. So much for the Serpent's disinterest; Alice could see in a glance that he would not object to any expressed desire of Kevin Keller's.

"Sure," This was at least less boring than most of the interactions she'd had this week. Alice walked over to their table.

"I'll get going." The Serpent finally acknowledged Alice with raised eyebrows and a nod as he stood and offered his seat to her. "I'll call you tonight, Kevin."

"You better," Kevin's teasing threat was entirely disarmed by his grin. Or perhaps that grin was his weapon. Alice looked from Kevin to the Serpent and wondered if they were as aware of their own relational dynamics as literally everyone around them must be.

When Joaquin's face finally relaxed into a smile before he left, Alice decided they probably didn't give much thought to what others were thinking or doing. It made her heart ache to see their intensity.

"So," Kevin focused entirely on Alice as his boyfriend exited the diner. "How are you doing now that you're getting the full Riverdale experience?"

"Besides feeling like I'm intruding on a really long wake for someone I've never met, it's been okay. Boring, but okay," Alice shrugged, but suddenly wondered if she'd overstepped when she realized she had no idea what Kevin's relationship had been to the dead guy. "No offense."

"None taken, believe me," Kevin's friendly smile was admittedly powerful when it was turned on her. Alice returned a smile of her own. "Riverdale can be boring when it's not insanely full of drama." Kevin glanced around the diner and then lowered his voice when he continued. "Sorry about the wake feel, too. It's been kind of intense having a 'missing person' and all. Personally, my vote is for a funeral so we can get some closure."

"Missing? I thought he just died."

"Oh my God, nobody told you," Kevin looked stricken. "Betty didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?" Alice was concerned by how serious Kevin looked and sounded, but she was also a tiny bit thrilled after having been so bored: this was clearly going to be pay dirt.

**00000**

It took some doing, but Fred got his work covered for a few days and was driving to Montreal. He would be arriving relatively late in the evening, but FP'd had no choice but to agree to meet him for a late dinner and discuss not only his plans for locating Brandon and Jughead, but also his heretofore undisclosed plan for bringing Archie back over the border safely by the end of the week. Fred was trying to be understanding of Archie's impulsive decision, but he was revving up for a talk with more than just FP.

A beautiful sunset lit up the sky as he drove, and despite all of his frustrations Fred couldn't help himself: he had to give in to FP's insistence, just for a few moments, and wonder if Jughead actually was alive somewhere - maybe even relatively nearby - seeing that same sunset and performing his usual routine of fighting tooth and nail not only to keep his own head above water, however the deck might be stacked against him by family and circumstances, but also to fight injustice and take up unlikely causes with his astonishing combination of energy and devotion.

Fred had always admired Jughead's ability to bound so far past any form of self-pity that he could be counted on as one of Riverdale's most involved citizens. Jughead and Betty had been a great pair for that, even when neither of them could yet see that there were some approaches that worked and there were some approaches that just created more noise without actually effecting any lasting change. That good sense would come with time, experience, and maturity - three things Fred fervently hoped Jughead would be granted.

And this sunset. Fred hoped he was granted the gift of seeing that too.

**00000**

Jughead was indeed noticing the sunset. He was confused, tense, and more than a little hungry, but the room he'd been taken to in the marble mansion had a great view to the west.

As it turned out, Jughead had been sent to deliver a car and some information - none of which he was privy to, but carried as though his life depended on it not being lost - and apparently he would be brought back to Jameson by the end of the evening and then sent back to Brand. There were far too many opportunities in that chain of custody for things to go wrong, but so far the process had gone as smoothly as could be hoped. Then he'd been taken to this ornate room with the gorgeous view sometime before noon.

There he'd waited. And waited. Whatever the information was, it apparently did not just require a reply - it required some kind of all-day board meeting with the courier kept on site, waiting nervously for his ride back.

"Beautiful, no?" A voice from the doorway startled Jughead.

Now apparently someone deigned to talk to him.

"Uh, yeah," Jughead ducked his head in a brief nod. "It's a nice view."

"Are you hungry?" The man was older, and though his white hair was balding, he was impeccably dressed and had an air of being master of the house. This very impressive house.

"Always," Jughead replied before realizing he probably sounded a little too eager. "Um, if it's not any trouble or anything."

"Not at all," The man gestured expansively for Jughead to precede him out of the room where he'd been alternately pacing and sitting for more than six hours now. "I think the cook would enjoy having someone different around for an evening. Then we can probably get you on your way."

If Jughead had known the choice was between dinner or getting home right away, he might have answered differently. It seemed to be too late to get out of it now, though, and he resigned himself to having dinner with this nice-seeming man. Then he'd get back to Jameson, and finally back to Brand.

Jughead's breathing had been a little tight all day, but once again it eased as he silently talked himself down. He could do this; it wasn't even difficult work. Not really.

"I do have a few questions for you, if you don't mind singing for your supper just a bit," The grandfatherly gentleman smiled warmly as they reached an elaborate dining room.

Jughead thought he smiled with a few too many teeth. Oh well; there was nothing he could do about the situation at this point. He didn't know anything, anyway. Everyone had made very sure of that at every step along the way.

"What do you want to know?" Jughead tried to appear confident and at ease. He sat down at the long table and noted with discomfort that there was a lot of silverware. That suggested the dinner would take some time.

"How well did you know Clifford Blossom?"

Jughead's head snapped up so quickly he felt like he might have given himself whiplash. "Who did you say you were?"

"I didn't. I'm Dominic Rose, of the Montreal Roses." The man raised an eyebrow significantly.

"I mean, how do you know about Clifford Blossom? Or that I-," Jughead realized he should probably stop talking before he said far more than he meant to.

"The Montreal Roses," Dominic repeated, as if that answered Jughead's question. He waited a beat. "Oh dear, you really have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Pretty much," Jughead smiled weakly.

"Shall we get you back, then?" Dominic stood abruptly from the table. "I see no need to prolong this meeting."

'Meeting?' Jughead shrugged off the word choice; he was only too happy to leave as soon as possible.

"That's fine with me," Jughead kept his tone friendly to avoid giving offense. "Thanks anyway."

"Peter will see you home," Dominic waved Jughead down a long hallway, toward a man in a suit. Apparently he'd be the chauffeur.

"Thanks," Jughead willed himself not to run. He was so close to being done.

"One last thing," Dominic's voice had an edge to it that stopped Jughead in his tracks.

"Uh, yes?" Jughead asked, turning reluctantly to face the man again.

"If anyone asks, we never met. Let's just keep it that you have no knowledge of the Montreal Roses."

This time there were definitely too many teeth in his smile. Jughead suppressed a shudder as he nodded his acquiescence. "Sure. I understand." He didn't, but he also didn't care. He was so close to getting home.

"It was lovely meeting you," Dominic dismissed him then and returned to the dining room.

This time Jughead did pick up his pace as he traversed the long hallway. The beautiful house felt more and more like a mausoleum with every step.

**00000**

Brand had known there wasn't going to be an ETA. He'd never expected updates along the way, as if this were a flight or a surgery. This was turning out to be a long day, though.

Maybe it was time to get Jones a cellphone.

It sounded insane, even in his head, but a cheap phone without internet capabilities - it might be the tool they needed now that this new relationship with Jameson had begun in earnest. Brand could probably figure out how to track its location, too, though it was likely that Jameson would object if that became known…

Brand's thoughts continued along those lines even as he straightened up the kitchen and set the table. Jones would probably be hungry when he got back. He'd been gone since ten this morning and it was nearly eight pm.

The front door opened and Brand stopped himself from moving toward it. "Jones?" he called. "You back already?"

"I'm back." Jones' voice was uncharacteristically subdued.

"Are you okay?" Brand did move toward him now.

"That was one of the most boring, stressful days I've ever spent," the teen declared. "But you were right. It was easy."

Brand felt his muscles relax. It had gone well. So far so good. "You hungry? I've got pizza."

"Oh yeah," Jughead's spirits seemed to return to him a bit when he saw the plates set out. "I haven't had anything to eat since I left this morning."

"We'll debrief later. First, food," Brand began dishing up dinner. After serving them each several slices of pizza he filled two glasses with water.

"Brand… who are the Montreal Roses?" Jughead had decided that he was too curious to let the strange interaction go, though he had not mentioned it to Jameson during that debrief.

Brand dropped the glasses. They shattered on the kitchen floor, and Jones yelped in surprise.

"Why?" Brand only needed two long strides to bring him nose to nose with his charge. "Who's asking?"

**00000**

Jameson was sitting in his home office waiting when Daniel arrived at 11:30 pm. This was a later summons than Daniel was used to, and that irritated him slightly - not that he would let on to Jameson.

"Tell me… why wouldn't Rose gut our messenger like a fish?" Jameson folded his arms.

The question seemed rhetorical. Apparently Jones was still alive.

"I finally decide to tie up some loose ends such as his Toronto house-" a thorn in Jameson's side for years now, "and I even send a car to drive him out of town. A _Ford_. He sends the messenger back, not only alive but complaining that he _got bored_." Jameson hadn't let on to Jones how irritated he had been by that particular comment.

"He said what?" That did sound unbelievably brazen in the context of such a dangerous job. Jones either had nerves of steel - or no idea who he'd been dealing with. "How in the world does Brand manage to surround himself with these sorts of people?"

"You think this is all Jones?" Jameson's expression turned thoughtful. "I suppose that's possible. I was thinking this might have more to do with Brandon, though. Brandon and Rose."

If Rose was colluding with Brand, they were in deep, deep trouble. Daniel made a snap decision to lead Jameson away from that conclusion while he personally - quietly - investigated that possibility; nothing would be served by ending up on the wrong side of _that_ alliance. "I think the kid is a curiosity, yes. So maybe he gets away with more. I wouldn't read too much into it."

"Should I be more curious?" Jameson was perplexed. "He's just a kid. If not for Brand, he wouldn't be here. Unless he's more than a pet or some sort of insurance policy. Who _is_ Jones? That's got to be a pseudonym, right? Such a generic name."

Daniel had recognized a tinge of paranoia in Jameson for a few weeks now, and was increasingly uncomfortable as it seemed to take root in his boss. Paranoia meant poor decision-making. That meant deadly errors. "He's nobody from nowhere. Trailer trash from a forgettable town where Brandon holed up for a while. He was handy, nothing more, and I don't think we need to overthink this." Most of that Daniel knew to be true; the rest he made up to reassure his agitated employer.

"I don't pay you to 'think' things; I pay you to know," Jameson glared now. "Find out what you can. If we need to separate Brandon from his young assistant for a while, let's do that. I want you monitoring this closely."

"I was already planning to do exactly that," Daniel said truthfully. He'd begin a deeper investigation right away. Brand and Rose; that truly would be an unholy alliance.

**00000**

It had been a really long day, even though boredom had ended up being the most overpowering element Jughead had been forced to endure. His sleep had been disrupted by the dramatic invasion of their home turf the night before. Jughead was also very distracted by Rose's mention of Clifford Blossom and the implication that he knew more about Brand, Jughead, and Riverdale than anyone in this area should.

That was Jughead's best and only explanation for why he did everything wrong - everything that he fully knew better than to do when Brand was worked up.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Jughead folded his arms defiantly as he spoke, answering Brand's question with one of his own. He had spent all day waiting on the pleasure of people who had power over him and a grudge against Brand, and in this impulsive moment Jughead recognized that it was possible he resented that. A lot.

"Who... mentioned... the Montreal Roses?" Brand growled out the words, having grown unaccustomed to needing to repeat himself in this house over the previous months. He was still nose to nose with Jones, which made it more obvious than ever that the teen had grown; he was getting closer all the time to matching Brand's height, if not yet his slightly more muscular build.

When Jones didn't back down immediately, Brand was surprised to recognize in him a bid for dominance - even though it was unclear whether Jones was aware of it.

To Jughead it didn't feel like snapping, or like a straw breaking a camel's back, or any other description he'd ever read. He suddenly just felt tired and so, so over being pushed around. Without any fanfare or dramatics, Jughead very deliberately turned his back on Brand and stepped away from the conversation.

"Oh, you think this is how it is now?" Brand's laugh sounded sincerely filled with humor, which probably should have stopped Jughead in his tracks.

Instead, Jughead picked up a slice of pizza, took a bite, and chewed slowly before setting the remainder of the piece back down on his plate. He'd have this conversation with Brand when his godfather had given him a minute, calmed himself down, maybe spoken civilly-

"Yeah, here's how this is going to go," Brand didn't walk over to Jones so much as stalk. "You're going to tell me from start to finish everything that happened and everything that was said today, and then you're going to your room to think about how many times I've earned your respect," Brand reached Jones and grabbed his right, injured arm by the wrist, "how often I've taken time out of my busy day to teach you," Brand grabbed Jones' other wrist as his hand came up automatically to protect his injured shoulder, "and where you'd be - where you still could end up - if I didn't keep three steps ahead of everyone else where you're concerned."

Jughead had been able to ignore his massively bruised shoulder through most of the day, but as Brand forced his hands down to his waist and then behind him, against the granite top of the kitchen island, he could feel that even the slightest resistance against Brand in this position would reignite the blinding pain from having been pistol-whipped the night before.

Brand took another step forward, now uncomfortably close to Jughead and able to simply lean forward onto his grip on Jones' wrists, causing a shocking, crushing pain as the fragile bones and joints ground against the sharp edge of the stone countertop.

"Brand, wait, no - I-," Jughead spoke up quickly, gasping in pain and feeling the return of the fear he'd somehow - stupidly - forgotten was key to navigating life with his godfather.

"Shhhh," Brand leaned forward slightly and the increased pain from his wrists made Jughead writhe in his godfather's agonizing grip - and then freeze when his shoulder erupted with an even more potent pain in response to his movement. "Relax, Jones. You're right; you really should have a few minutes of peace and quiet before I grill you about your day."

Jughead searched Brand's eyes for any hint of how to placate his guardian - but he sensed that it would be a mistake to say anything more at the moment. Brand would let him know when he was ready to continue their conversation, and was clearly relishing the power to dictate terms. A power he lacked elsewhere in Toronto, it seemed.

Seconds slowly passed, and Jughead found himself arching his back awkwardly over the island in an effort to buy back even a few inches of breathing room.

"Are you sure you're comfortable?" Brand underscored his sarcastic comment by leaning forward again. Jughead felt more than heard a choked noise come from his own throat in response to the excruciating movement. "Hey, hey, shhhh," Brand said again. His tone was gentle, as if he were calming a frightened animal, but he didn't try to hide his expression of satisfaction. "We've got all the time in the world for you to learn what happens when you try to call the shots around here. There's no rush."

Jughead turned his face away from Brand as his eyes filled with helpless tears. Nothing felt broken yet, but Jughead knew that could change in an instant.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Jones," Brand's voice was dangerously soft now. "I think you know that by now. I think you also know that there are only two ways for this to go: either you do what needs to be done, or I'll have to make some tough decisions."

Jughead knew that in Brand's world he really believed that he wasn't hurting him by trapping him here, forcing him to the limit of his ability to choke back cries of pain, and marking him with what had to be vicious bruises on his wrists. In Brand's world it was only 'hurting' if there was permanent damage, actual threat to life and limb.

In Brand's world this was a mild warning - a creative variant of a slap on the wrist - to remind him not to lose sight of the much bigger dangers outside of their row house.

Jughead really needed to remember that he lived in Brand's world.

**00000**

**That's a chapter! It feels greedy to even ask for more reviews this week, but what the heck - they always inspire, and they are always deeply appreciated. I hope you have a great start to the week!**

**-Button**


	8. Chapter 8

**This is definitely two chapters. I just had this terrible feeling about splitting up two of the scenes, though, so I had to post a whole lot in one go. Which you likely don't mind if you're still reading, but I figured I'd better explain. :-D**

**I hope you DOUBLY enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Veronica had been both frustrated and relieved when she heard the very vague story that Archie had left town abruptly with friends - and she was even more relieved when Betty followed up with a report that Fred had left town to retrieve him. In Veronica's opinion, Archie's disappearance most definitely had to do with FP and his crazy trips in every direction to follow insane leads from cruel, or perhaps mentally ill people who watched late-night television and called in fake tips to hotlines. No question.

Veronica had gotten into the habit of silently cheering FP on every time his car pulled into or out of town, or whenever he got on or off of a bus, or pulled his bike into the gas station to fill it up. She'd felt that FP deserved to have someone, anyone, supporting him - even just silently, from a distance - through all of this.

However, this was officially the limit for her feelings of support: Archie had been through quite enough without being dragged into the half-rabid penance process, or perhaps exorcism, that FP seemed to be inflicting on himself.

Not that FP was the only person to blame in all of this.

Archie was going to be dead after she got through with him for this little stunt, Veronica thought to herself. She just needed him to survive long enough for her to be the one to kill him.

That was when she became aware of the nature of her own thoughts and cringed.

Okay, so she would not be killing anyone. Veronica would remain the lucky one whose boyfriend may have disappeared without his phone, but had done so of his own volition, was apparently safe, and had somehow updated his father - who was even now heading to pick him up.

Veronica was glad she'd gotten ahold of her own thoughts and emotions before meeting with Betty to discuss further their plans for presenting Mrs. Carter with alternative employment opportunities - which were admittedly scant, but hopefully would look more promising soon.

"Veronica?" Hermione was sitting at the dining room table when Veronica scooped up her purse on her way out the door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Mom," Veronica checked the time on her cell phone; she could chat for at least ten minutes and still make it everywhere she needed to before meeting Betty that afternoon. "What's up?"

"_Mija_," Hermione began gently, and Veronica knew in that instant that this might not take overly long - but it would not be a casual conversation, "I wanted to talk to you about Alice Carter and her mother. And your suggestions to them about _The Register_ not being a good place to work."

"Well, it's not," Veronica said simply. She decided to play a strong offense in this conversation, at least until she knew where her mother was coming from.

"You know that Alice's mother is a good friend of your father's, which makes her a good friend of mine," Hermione's tone was mildly chiding. "You also know that she's divorced from her husband and trying to make ends meet under… challenging circumstances. I didn't want to get into the middle of your friendship, but at this point you should probably know that Alice is going through a very rough time. Being supportive of her mother might be the best way for you to be supportive of Alice."

Veronica blinked. Alice had seemed slightly self-absorbed, and she clearly took what she could get through adeptly playing her parents off of one another, but it had never occurred to Veronica that there was anything more than that going on - or that those dynamics would be affected by what she and Betty were trying to do.

"I'm not saying that you are in any way responsible for Alice running a bit wild," Hermione continued, "but I think you can understand why I have some sympathy for a mother who is trying to provide for her daughter without the support of a husband. Maybe even trying to reduce the influence of her husband on how Alice sees the world, without ruining her daughter's relationship with him."

Chastened, Veronica simply nodded.

"That's all I wanted to say," Hermione stood now, offering her arms for a brief hug.

"I'm sorry, mom," Veronica embraced her mother. "I truly hadn't thought about it that way."

Hermione released Veronica with a small smile. "You'll find that your faith is typically well-placed in women who make difficult decisions, Veronica. That respect is a very nice thing that I see in your friendship with Betty, but with others… sometimes you should try to have a little more faith in their ability to make the best decisions for themselves."

Veronica left the apartment after a few more minutes of conversation, and with the odd feeling that she had gained new insight into her mother - even though their conversation had been entirely about the Carters.

**00000**

Jughead had three priorities for the day: hide his bruises, then find Alice in the park, and then get rid of her once and for all.

The bruises were an unfortunate and painful complication; Brand had really done a number on his wrists.

To be fair, Jughead reminded himself, he had definitely known better than to mouth off. Brand's response was creative, but not unprecedented.

There had been ample time overnight for Jughead to reflect on his own role in the altercation and his belated insight into the definitions of 'pain' versus 'harm' according to Brand: in his own way, Brand was just trying to protect his godson in the face of deeply extenuating circumstances.

After all, it would have solved a lot of problems for Brand to hand Jughead over to Jameson. Not to mention leave him behind with Joe, in Riverdale. Brand could easily have broken Jughead's wrists the previous night - broken his legs for that matter - and just like that a lot of issues would disappear. Brand's previous threat about his colleagues wanting Jughead homeschooled while bound and gagged in a closet came to mind, contrasting sharply with his godfather's generosity over the past few months concerning both books and tutelage.

Jughead needed to remember that generosity. And its limits. The rules of the household honestly were not that complicated, and for the most part he actually got along with Brand just fine.

The situation had been resolved the previous night when Brand had finally let Jughead up from being crushed against the kitchen island, only to shove him into a chair and order him to stay put. Brand had then taken a few minutes to retrieve some innocuous household items that Jughead understood only too well.

Brand had been silent as he brought duct tape up from the basement and placed it in an easily accessed kitchen drawer. He'd looked around the kitchen briefly before adding two dish towels to the drawer - and winked at Jughead as he did so, as if they could bond over the shared memory of Jughead nearly suffocating due to a duct tape gag and bloody nose.

"I think you're too old for serious grounding," Brand had finally said, "but let's avoid any self-destructive behaviors that might require a 'time out.'"

Only then had they talked about Jughead's encounter with Rose.

Now, in the light of a new morning, Jughead winced as he stretched his aching arms and started searching his room for appropriate clothing. He settled on a fleece jacket with a collar that would hide the fading marks on his throat - and long sleeves to hide the bruises circling both of his wrists. It might be time to invest in turtlenecks.

At least it wasn't summer.

"What are you doing?"

Jughead startled so hard that his teeth rattled.

"Jumpy today, aren't you?" Brand stepped into the bedroom. "Let me see your wrists."

Jughead took a step backward before he stopped himself. Brand always seemed to like it a little too much when he reacted defensively. "They're fine."

"Let me see," Brand's tone hardened.

Summoning as neutral an expression as he could muster, Jughead stepped within Brand's reach and held out his wrists for inspection. "See? A little colorful, but I think that really spices up the whole look."

"Which begs the question, once again: what are you doing?" Brand turned Jughead's wrists over to see the extent of the bruising. "You're not leaving the house like this."

"I'll wear a long-sleeved jacket," Jughead fought harder for his neutral expression now. "I haven't been out on my own in ages, thanks to this-" Jughead made a slashing motion across his throat to indicate the faded bruising there. "I'd really like to get out while it's not raining."

"If your sleeves ride up even a few inches, we've got trouble," Brand disagreed. "Get those covered up so they can't be seen from orbit and then help me check out the new windows." Replacements for the broken windows had been installed, but Brand was sure he could feel a draft in the living room now.

Desperation to get to Alice, to get rid of her, was the only thing that compelled Jughead to keep arguing his case.

"What, then, am I stuck indoors until Jameson wants me again?" Jughead had to summon a great deal of willpower to resist the urge to take a step backward once again when shades of the previous evening flashed through Brand's expression.

A few tense seconds passed in silence.

"You know what?" Brand's voice was tight now, and he himself took a very measured, precise step away from Jughead and toward the bedroom door. "You need space; I need space. Wear some gloves and be careful."

"Okay," Jughead's voice was quiet and his pulse pounded in his ears; he could tell that Brand was only just in control of his anger, and he couldn't shake the mental image of Brand filling the kitchen drawer. One wrong move and his wrists would be the least of his worries. "That sounds… good. Thanks."

"Be back here in an hour," Brand disappeared toward his own bedroom.

Jughead's hands were still shaking when he closed the door to the row house behind himself.

**00000**

Brand could hear the front door close from where he sat in his room. Maybe it was for the best that both he and Jones were getting a breather today. Brand needed to fully think through the 'tough decisions' that he'd alluded to the night before, and that was easier without Jones raising Brand's hackles while he did so.

This would be so much easier if he wasn't the type of professional who followed the first rule of good business: always invest in people.

From his aversion to breaking bones to his careful mastery of using restraints without causing permanent harm, Brand knew his habits created more hassle for him at every step. Nevertheless, he profoundly disliked the wanton damage he often saw others cause; it offended his sense of good order.

Waste not, want not.

Brand readily acknowledged that Jones was a complicated case, too. In Brand's experience you typically only found two of three traits in any one person: bright, malleable, or available. Jones was first and foremost bright and independent, which should have meant he was anything but teachable. However, he'd clearly been neglected before Brand's arrival in Riverdale, and that had primed the kid to imprint on the first reasonable pack leader who took an active interest in him. After that it was just dumb luck that Brand had the opportunity to take him along to Toronto.

Brand also found that he didn't dislike the kid, which would have been a deal-breaker. He'd even discovered in himself a capacity for nurturing that nobody who had ever met him would have suspected. He'd stood in the basement of Joe's place near Riverdale and rooted for Jones. Taking a hostage while getting out of town was just good business, but letting him sleep comfortably all the way to Canada was an act of kindness. Keeping the sole witness to Brand's survival under wraps was extremely useful for de-clawing the resultant manhunt, and keeping him alive in case Blossom had unknown allies come out of the woodwork was one of those clever moves that gave Brand his excellent reputation - but granting Jones gruff affection, personal tutoring, and eventually increased freedom of movement as the manhunt died down and Blossom's network remained silent for months… Brand half expected to be nominated for sainthood.

All of that was allowing Brand's very first attempt at a long-term, high-stakes gambit with the potential for a payout that he'd seen only a few others manage before: hand-raising and educating someone who was wholly loyal - and entirely legitimate.

Jameson was creating some hurdles for them right now, but as long as they rid themselves of him... In a few more years, it was possible that Brand could have boots on the ground anywhere Jones was, including places that a known criminal (whether convicted or merely recognized by others in the business) could only dream of accessing. The foothold gained through someone who truly could not be bought and who could join a community with all legitimacy was wildly underestimated by criminals like Jameson, or even Roy. Keep Jones away from the pesky details, make him think they were just living their 'best life,' and continue being the miniature family unit Brand was finding he really didn't mind being pack leader of - and their two-person team could deploy again and again so long as Brand didn't get greedy and make a stupid mistake.

The Serpents had once tried a crude, half-baked version of this plan, and the cracks in their strategy were obvious: their lawyer seemed on the brink of being debarred at every step, was laughably far from being socially integrated in the way that Riverdale's mayor had managed with her own law degree - and Brand got the strong sense that Peabody was for sale to the highest bidder. No, Brand was following in the footsteps of far more successful criminals in raising his own wayward youth. Jones would be infinitely more clean-cut and respectable. He'd be mayor material. Jones would make himself far more useful simply by being upstanding than had ever come from Peabody's single trick of clever legal advice.

Right up until Rose's appearance on the scene, the plan looked like it had been working. Brand had admittedly been fumbling his way through the process of educating Jones and ensuring that he would enter college sans tattoos or a criminal record - but they hadn't killed each other or been arrested yet.

Rose was a big problem, though. So big that Brand had to wonder if he was starting to lose perspective on the whole thing; it was probably time he got a second opinion to follow up on what he'd learned from Jones the previous evening.

Brand pulled out his phone.

"How's Scheherezade?" Roy clearly knew who was calling.

"Don't call him that. You will slip up, and then he's going to have questions," Brand had to admit that was an unnecessarily pointed reminder that Roy had been the one who let it slip to Jameson's crew that Jones was living with Brand - but he was stressed and feeling more paranoid than usual. Roy would forgive him.

"Eh, he'd never figure out what I meant." Roy clearly didn't think Brand was too out of line since he answered easily.

"Huh. The entirety of the story is someone trying to make themselves indispensable enough to survive for another twenty-four hours. What exactly would he think you meant, Roy?" Despite the slightly combative tenor of the discussion, Brand was already relaxing. They had major differences in their approaches to much of life, but Roy had been helpful on many occasions and they had a strong working relationship.

"That's fair, Brand," Roy conceded with good humor. "So I take it you're not calling about body disposal if you're worried about my saying something in front of Jones."

"You take it rightly, Roy," Brand spoke wryly; this was just one example of something they did not see eye to eye on. Roy had tried to understand keeping Jones alive for a few weeks, to be on the safe side with regards to Blossom's contacts, but had been regularly advocating a bullet between his eyes for months now - that is, right up until Jameson took an interest in Jones. That was when he'd begun referring to the kid as "Scheherezade."

They both had skin in this game due to their actions in Riverdale, so Brand knew he needed to tread carefully now. There was no way he would ever share with Roy his long-term plan for Jones - not after everything that had already happened - so this was likely to sound wildly irresponsible as well as dangerous. "I wanted to know what you've heard about Rose in the Toronto area."

"If you have to ask that, then this really should be a call about body disposal," Roy's tone lost all humor. "Who's talking about Rose? Seriously, Brand, why is the kid still alive if anyone in Toronto is in talks with Rose?"

"He ran into Rose. Yesterday."

"Brand."

"I know."

A long silence passed between the long-time colleagues.

"Brand," Roy finally spoke, "I say this with all the love in the world, but you cannot call me again. I don't advise shooting the kid until you know for sure that's not going to set Rose off, but then you _need_ to get rid of that dead weight. You have the keys to the apartment I set up in case you need it, and it's paid up for six months. That's as much as I can do. Good luck."

The phone clicked in Brand's ear.

**00000**

Walking to the park in the sunshine felt surreal. Jughead found himself recalling the time he'd spent exploring the city with Alice, her energy and humor infusing that day with an aura of invincibility in the middle of a city he now knew all too well contained overwhelming dangers to them both. His newfound awareness of that danger probably should have affected that memory, coloring it and warping it, but instead passing from one block to the next seemed like passing backward through time.

When the green space came into view, it looked to Jughead like an oasis where he could go back, however temporarily, to being just a guy in the city looking for a place to read.

This day was not unseasonably warm like the last time he'd made this trip, and while gloves seemed like more than he really needed, they didn't look out of place with his fleece jacket zipped up under his chin.

Jughead found himself noticing the wide berth he was given by people walking down the sidewalk, just as Alice had pointed out previously. His hands were fists in his jacket pockets, and he felt the sharp pang of hunger that he'd come to associate with growing taller - maybe even taller than his father at this point. Jughead shook his long hair back and out of his eyes with a now-habitual twitch, wondering briefly how different he would look to his father, or to Archie. To Betty.

Entering the park, and then nearing the center of the park, Jughead nervously scanned the people around him for Alice. He'd brought a book from Brand's bookstore haul in case he needed to wait, since a time had not been specified in the note. Jughead was grateful for a little time to gather his thoughts, too, since he was not entirely sure how he would persuade the exuberant Alice to give up on being friends with him. Permanently.

"Jonas! You came!" Alice bounded up behind Jughead. She took him in at a glance. "You're breathing, too. Nice work!"

Jughead almost smiled in greeting before realizing that was not part of the master plan. "Um yeah, Alice, I - uh - wanted to talk." There, that sounded ominous enough to get things started.

"About this book, I hope!" Alice had noticed the volume tucked under Jughead's arm. "I totally recommended it to this guy at the bookstore. So good."

"You recommended it to a guy at… _our_ bookstore?" Jughead was mentally calculating the timing and couldn't quite be sure. This sounded bad, though. Had she met Brand?

"I love that it's 'our bookstore,' Jonas," Alice grinned teasingly.

This was not going the way he'd wanted it to go.

"Hey, you were breathing so well just a minute ago," Alice's grin faded quickly. "Come over here; sit down. Have you gotten to a doctor since I last saw you?"

Crap. Jughead sucked air in through his nose as Alice steered him off the path and toward a nearby tree where they could sit comfortably out of the way of families and tourists.

"No doctor… yet." Jughead managed between gasps. He slowed his breathing painfully through his nose and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the grass.

"Well, that wasn't bright. Maybe it's environmental," Alice looked around them at the park suspiciously. "We're not far from where it happened last time. Do you need anything or will it go away on its own?"

"On its... own." Jughead hoped, anyway. This was starting to feel like the mother of all panic attacks.

"Okay," Alice was clearly still concerned, but contented herself with sitting next to Jughead on the grass to wait for him to recover. "Want me to tell you a true crime story I heard in my mother's new town? There's murder and intrigue."

Jughead shook his head. This would likely be easier if he didn't encourage discussion.

"Your loss; it's a really good one," Alice let the subject drop willingly enough, though. "So is it just your breathing or is your heart all messed up too?"

"They're… connected, right?" Jughead thought he might be beginning to regain control of his heart rate and his breathing, but Alice wasn't making it easier.

"I'll check your pulse," Alice grabbed Jughead's gloved left hand and slid her fingers to his wrist.

Before Jughead could react, the damage had been done.

"Do you have leukemia?!" Alice dropped Jughead's hand like it had burned her.

"Uh…" Jughead's panic attack went from slowly receding back up to full strength in just a few quick heartbeats.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Alice saw Jughead's reaction worsening and her eyes widened. "Oh my god, you're not a cutter, are you? I mean - never mind, that doesn't make sense either, sorry, I-"

Jughead's vision was starting to gray now. Meeting Alice in the park today had been his worst idea in a long time, and that was saying something. "I-I think I'm going to-,"

"Hold on," Alice caught Jughead's left shoulder as he started to collapse from his seated position. "Lie down. I'm calling 911. Or Canadian 911. Whatever. The cellphone will know, right?"

"No-," Jughead choked out the word but didn't get any further.

"Give me one good reason or I'm hitting 'Send,'" Alice poised her finger dramatically over her phone.

"Hey, is he all right?" A runner was jogging in place on the path, looking over at the two of them.

Jughead shot a desperate thumbs up at the man, praying that it would be enough to de-escalate the situation. The runner replaced his headphones and jogged away without a second glance.

That gave Alice pause. "Are you sure?"

Jughead nodded without trying to speak, realizing that his failed attempts to gasp out coherent answers were freaking Alice out more than anything.

"If you pass out, Canadian 911 is getting called," Alice made a point of setting the phone down without erasing the number from the call screen.

Jughead flashed her "OK" with his fingers and closed his eyes to focus on his breathing more fully.

This girl was going to be the death of him.

"Is it your godfather?" Alice had given Jughead just a few respectful seconds of silence before picking up the obvious topic. "The not-leukemia? Did he hurt you?"

Jughead kept his eyes closed, trying to buy time to think - and trying to get enough oxygen to make that thinking cogent.

"Canadian 911!" Alice threatened, and Jughead opened his eyes to glare at her. "Okay, fine; you haven't passed out. You have to tell me what happened, though. Unless you actually _are_ the world's worst kidnap victim."

Jughead rolled his eyes.

"You covered it up, so you're embarrassed," Alice was apparently about to make up her own story. Jughead found himself hoping it was a good one. It might inspire his own lie to be halfway believable. "Was it your god_mother_? That's still abuse, even if she's tiny and frail, you know."

That wasn't going to be much help. Jughead was starting to feel his chest loosen, though. His breathing eased.

"I... tangled with someone I shouldn't have," Jughead finally managed. "That's all. I'm trying to keep my... godfather from finding out."

"Oh. Okay, then. Fight club. Gambling debt. Mugger, maybe? You're not supposed to fight back, you know. But, to be fair, if I were a mugger I'd be mad too when I saw your wallet," Alice eyed him curiously but was apparently willing to accept his vague explanation for the moment. "Hey, speaking of godfathers, that true crime story-," Alice lit up again.

"Look, Alice," Jughead interrupted her. "I actually came here to say I don't want you coming to my house anymore. The note and all that - it was kind of-"

"Intrusive?" Alice grimaced. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't sure what to do when you weren't at the bookstore, and it seemed less intrusive than-,"

"So if you could just not come around again," Jughead was quickly realizing that never having broken up with someone before had left him without a vital life skill, "that would be... helpful. I'd appreciate it."

"Steer clear of the house, got it." Alice mimicked Jughead's salute gesture for emphasis.

She clearly did not get it.

"Steer clear of _me_," Jughead corrected. Great, now he couldn't even make eye contact.

Alice seemed to be understanding him for the first time in their conversation. "Oh."

"Um, yeah," Jughead picked up his book from where it had fallen onto the grass during his panic attack. He let the silence lengthen; it had always seemed to poison things before, so he trusted it to do the job again now.

"All right, then," When she eventually responded, Alice's tone had gotten hard and angry. Finally. "I'm sorry I… intruded."

Jughead didn't trust himself to formulate a response that could not in any way be construed as encouraging, so he remained silent.

"Well," Alice stood up, still looking at Jughead expectantly. When he remained silent and continued avoiding eye contact she took a few steps away. "Just… don't die, I guess. I'd say have a nice life, but I'm really not sure that's in the cards for you, Jonas."

Jughead couldn't help but privately agree with Alice's dark assessment. He watched miserably, but with a deep sense of relief as she stalked away through the park.

Mission accomplished.

**00000**

"I'm not letting you go for walks on sunny days if you're going to come back in a mood like this," Brand complained when Jughead served dinner. "These are angry-looking omelettes."

Jughead just stared at Brand, simultaneously daring him to pick a fight and wondering hopelessly what he'd do if Brand did come after him. The walk back from the park had left him fighting despair and the feeling that he had nothing left to lose - a feeling that he knew better than to trust if he didn't actually want to lose what freedom he still possessed.

"Is now a good time to tell you that Jameson wants you to run an errand tomorrow?" Brand met Jughead's challenging gaze with one of his own. "We can train tonight if you need to get something out of your system before then."

"Nope," Jughead sat down to dinner, his words grinding out. "I'm fine. When does Jameson want me?"

"Just before noon," Brand didn't like the tension radiating off of Jones - it was setting his own teeth on edge - but he had to admit it would probably serve the kid well while working with Jameson. He wouldn't discourage it or try to calm him down. He took a bite of the eggs Jones had plated for him. "These taste even worse than they look."

"You are so incredibly welcome for the dinner you didn't have to cook or serve," Jughead responded drily.

"Have you heard of the vomelet MRE?" Brand took another mouthful of eggs. "Because I think we've got a horse race here."

Jughead took a bite of his own, coughed hard once, and couldn't suppress an expression of embarrassment. "Wow, okay. Sorry about that. I'll start over."

"No, no - they kind of grow on you," Brand took another bite.

"Ach, stop eating it," Jughead got up from the table and grabbed Brand's plate, dancing out of reach as Brand went to take it back. "I can't witness you eating this. It's wrong and it's twisted."

Jones' expression suddenly froze, as if he was abruptly remembering that their normal banter no longer applied. His gaze darted to the kitchen drawer Brand had filled with 'supplies.'

"Here, I'll help this time," Brand broke the awkward silence and got up to follow Jones from the table to the kitchen.

The appearance of Rose in the picture had admittedly thrown Brand for a loop, and perhaps that had caused him to overreact - slightly. Although Roy's response suggested that perhaps he should have reacted even more strongly. After all, Rose was not just the most deadly and least predictable player on the board; he might well be the one person who had the ability to piece together exactly what had happened in Riverdale and thus endanger everything Brand had so carefully put into place to cover up murdering Blossom and leaving town with Jones.

Also in defense of Brand's sharp nip to correct the teen: Jones had clearly needed a reminder of who was in charge of their little unit. Brand made an effort not to think about the teen's defiance - it made his blood boil even just in memory. Remaining calm and continuing with business as usual was their best bet for survival, particularly now that Roy could not be called upon for backup or assistance.

It was time to let Jones start working his way back from good old paralyzing terror to a more productive blend of respectful fear and reliance on Brand's benevolence. It was time to play good cop, since the mere presence of the stocked kitchen drawer was obviously fully capable of playing bad cop for the foreseeable future.

Jughead sniffed a jar of paprika suspiciously while the pan reheated and as he caught a whiff of the spice his eyes lit up with surprise. Brand stifled a smile at the teenager's seemingly constant discovery of the world around him. Sometimes it seemed like he'd been raised by wolves and this was his first time living in a normal household.

Although it was a depressing thought if this home was more normal than, well, anything.

Brand pulled out a few more spices and handed them to Jones for his inspection. It was time to continue his education and to help him get back on the legs Brand had cut out from under him so easily the night before. Jones needed to be primed very carefully for his role in Brand's plan, and that meant his being strong and capable but never defying Brand himself. That was a tricky goal, and could easily be overshot so that Jones was ruined for the jobs Brand needed him to continue taking on for Jameson, and to continue being successful at.

Brand cracked an egg against the stovetop and Jones flinched like it was gunfire.

Brand sighed. Hopefully Jameson truly had just an errand in mind for the next day.

**00000**

Wonder of wonders, it was just an errand. Or rather, a series of small deliveries ranging from envelopes to tiny packages. Jughead assumed it was cash, and he also assumed that not being curious would get him further than any other approach to the task.

Jughead actually found the whole job eerily reminiscent of the first one he'd done for Jameson, and in spite of his theory about cash he wasn't entirely certain he was understanding the whole thing - but he didn't care. It was easy, and it was almost done.

The one problem that seemed like it might keep haunting him was that Jughead didn't have a car. Public transportation was apparently frowned upon when making deliveries, and Brand had made it entirely clear that there was no way his car was being dragged into any job that Brand was not directly involved in, a stance only partly based on the fact that Jughead didn't have a Canadian driver's license. Jameson hadn't said a word about a company car or whatever criminals did when employees really should be driving themselves, so Jughead found himself walking more than a mile to his final stop of the day. Someone there was going to give him a ride back to Jameson after that, so the situation wasn't dire, but it was making everything take a lot longer than it needed to.

Jughead toyed with the material of his gloves as he walked, trying not to think about what had happened after his last job. Or the previous day, in the park. Before that meeting he hadn't seen Alice in weeks, and even the few minutes of contact had reminded him painfully of how much he'd missed having a friend.

The criminal life was apparently lonely. Especially if you were determined not to be friends with other criminals. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense, but then what about his life did make sense these days?

Jughead double-checked the address before walking up to the door of the final house to which he was delivering a small package. He rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait, wondering how long it would be before he was home to face Brand - and to finally have some dinner.

The door opened, and Jughead was surprised to be ushered into the house by a man with an obviously broken nose. It was splinted, but it looked nasty and the man had two black eyes to go with it.

With a feeling of rueful solidarity, Jughead wondered if the man was allowed out of the house, or if someone like Brand had ordered him to stay indoors until the bruising was less conspicuous.

"Hi," Jughead tried to be polite at each stop. Who knew what he was being judged on, but he could manage a few pleasantries if that might smooth things.

The man just stared at him.

"I'm leaving a package here, and someone is supposed to give me a ride back to Jameson's," Jughead shrugged to indicate that the plan had not been his idea, while pulling the final bundle out of the backpack he'd been handed hours earlier. It had spent the day carefully slung over his left shoulder to avoid jostling his damaged right one, but Jughead was still relieved to have it emptied. The man accepted the package with a nod and then took the backpack from Jughead as well.

It could be that everything else had been cover, and the backpack the real delivery, Jughead mused when he was left alone in the foyer to wait.

A few minutes passed, and then another man appeared in the hallway.

"Jones?"

"Yeah," Jughead hoped this was his ride.

"There's a car out front."

"Okay," Jughead waved and opened the door to leave. Sure enough, a sedan with dark tinted windows had pulled in front of the house. Jughead's stomach growled and he resisted the urge to hurry.

Instead, moving slowly and dutifully attracting as little attention as possible, Jughead walked to the car and opened the front passenger side door.

"Oh," Jughead was embarrassed to find both front seats occupied. He really didn't know the etiquette. "Sorry; I'm in the back?"

The driver raised an eyebrow at him, clearly signaling that he thought Jughead was an idiot. The man in the passenger seat was wearing a wicked looking knee brace and grimaced as he reached to close the door. Jughead turned and went to the back of the vehicle, even as something began to feel… off. Jughead tried to ignore the feeling; he was almost done and just wanted to get home. He opened the back door, and there was the man from before with the broken nose.

"Hey-," Jughead suddenly realized what had bothered him. The man in the front passenger seat had a knee brace. The man in front of him had a severely broken nose.

"Get in the car."

There was a twin of Brand's .45 aimed at his chest.

Jughead barely had time to put it all together before he found himself sprinting down the sidewalk behind the car. Turning a car around on this narrow street would take at least a three-point turn. He could lose them, he was sure - and even as a novice, the one thing he knew for certain about Brand's gun was that nobody would fire it on the street. Not if they didn't want the cops called instantly.

Jughead made a point of cutting across streets and changing direction frequently to be sure he wouldn't be followed. He was seven or eight blocks away from the house where he'd made the final delivery when he realized he was lost. He didn't have a cellphone, and at this point he wasn't sure which direction would take him back to Jameson's - or whether it was acceptable to just head straight to Brand.

Slowing his pace, Jughead pulled out his wallet to see how much cash he was carrying. It was time to find a taxi. He'd made his way into a more touristy area, with restaurants and shops, and there would probably be a taxi coming by any minute. Jughead was very glad he'd kept the cash from his first job with Jameson now - Alice had been right that he would not have made it far with what he'd previously had in his wallet.

Jughead stepped closer to the street where cars were streaming past. A few pulled over to drop off or pick up passengers, and he saw a taxi within just a minute or two. Waving to the cab in the manner he'd seen on television, Jughead tried hailing his very first taxi and stepped off the curb.

A black sedan with tinted windows swerved toward him.

Jughead leapt back, out of the way of the car and onto the curb, but that was as much as he managed before the man with the grotesquely broken nose was out of the vehicle and twisting his injured right arm up and behind his back. "Get in the backseat or I will open fire on these people."

The threat didn't seem credible to Jughead, but the death grip on his arm left him no opportunity to break free as he was manhandled the short distance to the back door of the car.

A bystander screamed out a useless warning.

It was all happening too quickly; Jughead was sure this looked exactly like the kidnapping it was turning into, but if he couldn't buy at least a few seconds then even a Navy SEAL wouldn't be able to intervene.

Jughead was thrown into an empty backseat - they must have left knee-brace guy somewhere else - and the door slammed behind him. The man with the broken nose still needed to get in, though, and Jughead could see that the locks weren't engaged yet. He yanked on the door handle to attempt running a second time.

The door didn't move. Child protection locks.

And then, just as suddenly, the door did move and Jughead was blinking up at Alice.

"Jonas?"

Jughead lunged out of the car. It dropped into gear and pulled away from the curb, the door slamming shut where he had just been.

"Where in the world did you come from, Alice?" Jughead could hear a note of hysteria in his own voice as he caught his balance and took a few quick steps further onto the sidewalk and away from the busy street. Without thinking, Jughead grabbed her in a desperately grateful hug.

"Was that - were you actually - being _kidnapped_?" Alice regarded Jughead with horror, pushing his arms off and backing away from him. "Are _those_ the people you 'tangled with' that you don't want to tell your godfather about?"

A small crowd had begun to gather, and something was said about shooting a movie. A Toronto pastime, and hopefully a convenient cover story for at least a few moments.

"I can't talk here, Alice," Jughead nervously eyed the people who would no doubt begin snapping photos with their phones any second.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Jonas," Alice shook her head, eyes wide. "This is so much more messed up than I thought."

Jughead couldn't argue with that.

Alice gave Jughead one last regretful look, but it was clear she was shaken and no longer at ease with him. Without saying anything further, Alice turned and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Jughead began looking for a subway sign; he needed to get off the street as quickly as possible and back to Brand. He'd know what to do.

Because Jughead had faces to go with their home intruders now.

**00000**

**I hope you enjoyed it (maybe even twice as much as usual ;), and as always I look forward to any reviews. I hope you are having a lovely week!**

**-Button**


	9. Chapter 9

**And things keep rolling! I'm embedding multiple perspectives on the same events here and there, and I'm curious about how that works for readers. I'm hard at work on the rest of this story (it's looking like maybe slightly fewer chapters but higher word count than BCBC overall), so let me know if you like it (or if it's confusing/awkward) and I'll see what I can do as the plot heats up further!**

**Thanks so much for the very kind Guest reviews, and also thank you to Living Lucid Dream for the faithful and encouraging detailed reviews. You make this more storytelling than writing every time I hear you're out there, and that is a great feeling.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**-Button**

**00000**

**000 Earlier in the day 000**

Alice had gone for a long walk to clear her head after an awful evening at home. The evening had begun with self-recriminations almost as soon as she left the park: of course Jonas had lied about who was beating him; of course he pushed away anyone who found out about the abuse; of course he was having panic attacks - yes, a Google search confirmed, they could look exactly like Jonas' symptoms - likely all because he was being hurt by someone.

It really seemed like Alice was the idiot who had met an endangered young man, given him a safe haven outside of his hellish home life, and then at the first sign of the severity of his situation and his all-too-normal response of pushing her away…

Alice stopped. She was romanticizing Jonas again. Out of long habit, she was making up a story that had nothing to do with reality. Jonas had withheld his contact information - granted, perhaps he had done so to protect her from a vicious godfather with an unpredictable temper…

Alice stopped herself again.

This time Alice went over the facts. Just the undisputed, known facts. After all, her initial read of Jonas in the bookstore had been intrigue. Later, in the park, she'd gotten a sense that he might be lying and perhaps jerking her around - but his panic attack had distracted her from those instincts. They'd spent just a few hours or so together the day after that, and those hours had seemed great, but literally everything she'd learned about Jonas suddenly looked like one of those "red flags" that Alice's bitterly divorced mother often talked about.

"I'm such an idiot," Alice muttered to herself as she wandered through a touristy area and began skirting through the increased foot traffic on the sidewalks.

Then, just as she began looking around for a snack to purchase, Alice saw a familiar figure running down the sidewalk in her direction - and her heart seemed to freeze. 'Oh, no. Is he _stalking_ me?'

Jonas ran past, not even glancing in her direction, weaving swiftly through the crowded sidewalk.

Alice should have been relieved.

Instead, however, something in Jonas' expression reawakened all of the protective instincts she'd been fighting since the previous day in the park.

'Fine. I guess I'm fated to be an idiot. So sue me.' Alice took off after him at a run.

Two blocks later, when Jonas slowed and pulled out his wallet, Alice went straight back to feeling foolish. He was clearly fine, and not only that - there was no sign of his panic attack issue, even though he was out in public alone and obviously exerting himself.

It was hard to believe he'd managed to fake all of that, but Alice had to believe her own eyes. She felt a steely sense of closure and acceptance settle over her: Jonas would get his wish, since she wouldn't be going anywhere near him ever again.

It was almost tempting to confront Jonas with this information as Alice walked right past him hailing a cab, but she was too angry and embarrassed. Her fantastical stories explaining away his behaviors were mortifying to her now. She'd been so ready to believe that-

A car swerved and nearly hit Jonas, right in front of Alice.

What was _with_ this guy and his magnet for trouble?

Jonas smoothly pulled off a Karate Kid leap that landed him perfectly on the curb and out of danger. Before today Alice would never have believed him capable of that kind of athleticism, and her eyes narrowed with even more anger at this additional evidence that she'd read him all wrong.

And then the car door opened, and one messed-up dude with tape all over his massively bruised face was wrestling Jonas into the backseat.

Alice found herself screaming and taking a few steps forward - before she froze.

What kind of danger was she getting herself into?

During Alice's moment of hesitation the bruised man threw Jonas bodily into the car, slammed the door shut, and moved toward the front passenger side door.

Alice snapped into action. There was almost no time to do anything, but she still tried to wrench the door open while the taped-up man was slamming his own front door closed. To her immense surprise, the car door opened under her hand.

Jonas' expression would probably haunt her dreams for years to come. He looked like he fully expected that his next breath would be his last, but instead of stubborn resistance or a determined mix of fear and anger, in this moment everything about his body language was simply pleading for help. Somehow Alice had never pictured abduction being quite so one-sided, perhaps because of all those 'spunky hero' movies, but she would never forget this update to her impression of it: Jonas did not have_ less_ power in this situation. He had _no_ power.

Before Alice could speak or reach for him or anything, the car was screeching away from the curb and the car door nearly clipped her arm as it slammed shut.

Jonas had somehow made it out, though, and was grabbing her in a hug as he staggered out of the street and onto the sidewalk. "Where in the world did you come from, Alice?"

The whole gesture felt like V-J Day in Times Square - if that had been the final scene of a slasher film. Alice stumbled away from Jonas, her whole body shaking with rage and fear as she realized just how close she had come to real harm, real danger.

Alice's mother was perversely fond of reminding her of this, but for the first time Alice truly understood on a gut level that helping someone else meant not just changing that person's life - it would change her own as well. Perhaps not for the better.

This was far too real, and even the unshed tears of panic still visible in Jonas' eyes only underscored for Alice that if _he_ was terrified - even though he was tall, muscular, and clearly more capable in a fight than she'd ever suspected - then she should be running away even faster.

So she did.

**00000**

**000 In the present 000**

Jughead burst into the door of the row house. "Brand? Brand!"

Locking the door behind him, Jughead moved away from the windows and into the kitchen. He had no reason to believe anyone had followed him, but his skin felt like it was crawling as his muscles tensed and released in agitation.

"Jones, what's going on?" Brand came halfway down the stairs, his computer headset dangling around his neck. "I'm in the middle of something."

"I know who broke in - at least where they live," Jughead wasn't sure that was the most salient information to begin with, but it seemed like it was the biggest upshot of his afternoon. "And uh, just for the record, do I need to check in at Jameson's before coming home from running errands for him?"

Brand stared at Jughead in disbelief. "Are you serious, Jones?" Jughead shrugged impatiently in response; it seemed obvious that he was serious. "You know what - just stay put for five minutes. I'm going to go finish my phone call. Do not move from this kitchen. We're driving over to Jameson's together. You hear me?"

Jughead nodded, swallowing hard. Now that Brand was taking charge, his muscles stopped pulsing. And his stomach growled.

Five minutes later Brand found Jughead working his way through a bowl of cereal.

"Seriously? You're eating?" Brand pointed toward the door. "Get in the car. Explain on the way to Jameson's."

Jughead picked up his bowl and was moving toward the door when Brand stepped in his way. "Leave the cereal, Jones."

Jughead quickly took one more bite before reluctantly abandoning the bowl.

Brand sighed heavily, recalling his commitment to playing 'good cop' for the time being. "Give me one more minute."

Brand made a quick trip to the basement and retrieved three protein bars and a water bottle. Jones never complained about food, but he had seemed hungrier lately and Brand suspected he'd be able to count ribs if the teen removed his shirt.

"Eat on the way," Brand ordered when he handed the high-calorie snack to Jones, whose eyes lit up with relief. "Jameson's going to have enough questions without us taking any longer than we have to. Let's go."

"So, uh, they definitely work for Jameson," Jughead felt that needed to be said before they got into the car. "The guys who broke in here."

"I figured," Brand kept them moving out the door. "Our job right now is to keep ourselves on Jameson's side and make sure he knows that they're not."

"What if Jameson is behind them coming here?"

"Then we might be walking into a situation that requires you to be fed and ready for action." Brand glanced over at Jughead as he backed the car out of their tiny driveway. "I don't think we are, though. Now tell me exactly what happened."

Jughead obediently related the story, omitting only Alice's identity and explaining her as a random bystander, while devouring the protein bars between long sips of water. He was so occupied that he didn't notice the shift in Brand's expression from dire to murderous.

"Normally you should always go back to Jameson first, to check in," Brand waited until Jughead had told the whole story to respond, "but this time I'm glad you came to me instead. I've got quite the bone to pick with Jameson about how he's handling things."

Jughead released a long, slow breath, grateful that he was no longer hungry or alone. And that he and Brand were back on the same side. "Thanks, Brand. I figured you'd know what to do."

Brand heard the warmth and vulnerability in Jones' tone and took a moment to appreciate his own incredible good fortune. He could not have scripted a better incident, from its timing to its apparent level of violence, for giving Jones a clear view of precisely how preferable Brand was to other options in the city. How few options Jones had. How lucky Jones was to have someone around who was even capable of protecting him, let alone for the incredibly low price of clear communication and good manners around the house.

"You got it, kid." Brand reached over to ruffle his hair. "Nobody messes with you but me."

Jughead snorted darkly, but he didn't push Brand's hand away when it came to rest protectively on his undamaged left shoulder.

**00000**

Fred was surprised to find that he got along with everyone he met in Montreal. FP had bought him a beer and Archie some pub fries and then left them in a bar while he went alone to follow up on a lead that required him to work solo.

"Oh, I'd never let my son near the business," Tom was now agreeing with Fred emphatically. "Now, if he had no skills and no brains, maybe I'd have to let him make his own decision about that, but he's got a chance to really make something of himself. So no dice."

"Don't get me wrong," Fred sipped his beer and gave Archie a meaningful look, "I want what's good enough for the family to be good enough for my boy. But I think fathers do hope their kids build from there, go further, and do better. We want to give them a foundation. An advantage."

"An advantage," Tom nodded earnestly. "I like that. That's exactly right. You listen to your pop here, Archer. He knows what's what."

"Don't you forget it," Fred quirked an eyebrow up at Archie with a smile. Archie returned a grin, still powerfully grateful that his father had been extremely cool under the circumstances. Archie was grounded until forever, but not until they went home - and Fred had agreed to finish the trip with Archie and FP. They would all return in time for school to begin again.

"Hey, FP's back," Tom nodded toward the door to the pub. "That was quick."

"That was really quick," Fred saw FP's agitated body language and got up to meet him. "Stay here just a minute, Archer." Archie had insisted on going by a 'mob name,' and Fred honestly thought it was a good idea: a game might help him to feel like he was playing at all of this, and not seriously consider engaging further with any of the men they met.

"He's left town," FP bit out quietly to Fred when he approached. "Rose is staying in his Toronto house, and the guys he left running operations here don't know a blessed thing."

"You know I don't want-," Fred held his hands up against the information.

"I know, I know. Don't tell you anything." FP bit his lip. "I need to go where Dom is. He's the only one who will have any information. Nobody's seen Brandon here, or…" FP trailed off for a moment. "Anyway, nobody's seen Brandon. That could mean he's in Toronto. Something's brewing if Rose felt he needed to leave everything here just a few months after Blossom's suicide."

"I'll take your word for it," Fred's tone was edgy. "Why don't you drop Archie off stateside near here. I can pick him up, and then you can go on to Toronto. Give me a call in a few days and let me know what you find out."

"You know, Toronto isn't that far, Fred," FP seemed to have trouble looking Fred in the eye now. "It's a big city, but it would only take a couple of days to get the lay of the land. Weren't you already planning to take a few days here?"

This was likely to be as close as FP came to asking for Fred's help.

"Let me talk to Archie," Fred had a different idea. It might even be better. "Let's make a decision in the morning. Sleep on it, okay?"

"Sure; just consider it. That's all I'm asking," FP nodded eagerly. "I'm going to hit the sack."

Fred returned his nod, approving of FP's avoidance of alcohol. That would make things easier in a number of ways.

Returning to the table where Archie and Tom were now energetically discussing music, Fred found himself sincerely curious which of the two options Archie would go for: them both accompanying FP for two more days before heading home, or Archie being dropped off at an American bus station the next morning and Fred committing to the duration of FP's search of Toronto. He knew which option he preferred, but he was prepared to live with either outcome.

**00000**

"Hey Alice," Veronica was surprised to see her new classmate at Pop's. "Weren't you going to Toronto for the break?"

"Oh, hi," Alice looked tired and out of sorts, but she smiled at Veronica weakly. "Things got a little weird, so I asked to come home early."

"Was it…" Veronica had forgotten the guy's name, but lowered her voice so they wouldn't be overheard. "The boy?"

"Want to sit down?" Alice waved Veronica into the booth. "I could really use another perspective, and it _cannot_ be my parents'."

"Of course," Veronica was intrigued and concerned, even as she recalled her mother's admonitions and resolved to help and not contribute to any strife between Alice and Bryn. "Let me order a milkshake and you can tell me everything."

A few minutes later Alice was sharing the whole story, and Veronica was nodding and gasping at all the right places.

"You know," Veronica said when Alice had finished explaining what had happened with the boy - Jonas - and taken a long sip of her largely-neglected milkshake, "I think the person with the most insight on this topic is actually Betty."

"Because of her boyfriend? Kevin actually told me about some of that," Alice confessed guiltily. "I've been pretty busy with the move and didn't, like, Google you all."

"Did Kevin tell you about the weeks when Jughead was being abused and we suspected something was wrong, but didn't do anything about it?" Veronica twisted her napkin tightly in her hands. "I really wish we'd gone to Sheriff Keller right away with our suspicions, even if it had turned out that we were wrong. I _really_ wish we had."

Alice felt she hadn't explained herself clearly enough if this was Veronica's reaction.

"There are a lot of differences here," Alice began defensively. "For one thing, you knew Jughead before all of this began. He was your friend, you knew something had changed, and you had a lot more information. You'd actually met his guardian!" Alice heard her voice rising in volume and wasn't sure why she was so upset at the implication that she was more responsible for Jonas than she wanted to be - that perhaps she should have stuck around and done more in that horrible moment. "I barely know Jonas, _and_ he's over eighteen. He's also involved in a whole lot more than just a questionable home life."

Veronica raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "That is all one hundred percent true, yes. I think you did absolutely the right thing as far as all of that goes, and I think you were more than brave to get involved when those thugs were fighting in the street like that." Veronica widened her eyes in horrified solidarity. "The only thing - and I literally mean the only thing - I'm saying here is that we would feel just the tiniest bit better now if we'd only reported what we suspected. In your case, maybe anonymously?"

Alice sighed. "Yeah, okay. Maybe anonymously. I'll think about it. Do you think Betty would be willing to talk about this? I mean, like I said, it's totally different. I get that her situation was so much worse. But it was kind of intense."

"Of course she would," Veronica wasn't actually certain of this, but she was pretty sure - Betty was typically very generous when someone needed her, even when the subject was as difficult as Jughead and his tragic death. "It might even be helpful for her to talk, too."

Alice nodded, her eyes on her milkshake. "Thanks for the advice. I might do that when I visit Toronto again - anonymously, I mean. My dad was a little upset that I was cutting this visit short, so I'm going up again soon for a long weekend."

"And you can talk to Betty between now and then, and get her perspective," Veronica rubbed Alice's forearm encouragingly. "That sounds like a great plan."

**00000**

"To Archer!" The cry went up again, and Fred rolled his eyes. FP laughed from his cot across the room.

"He's awfully popular here. You sure you want to send him home tomorrow?" FP's tone was filled with mirth.

"More sure every time they yell that," Fred hoped Archie was keeping his promise not to drink and really was just showing off his athletic abilities in various sports the drunk men had decided to break out in the wee hours once they'd heard that Archie had to leave the country the next day.

They had made the deal, and Fred was entirely willing to give up more of his own time to support FP if Archie was safely back in Riverdale. Andrews Construction was a tight ship, and Fred hadn't taken an extended vacation in a long time. This felt right to them all, and FP's eyes had filled with tears of gratitude when Fred and Archie presented him with the plan they'd agreed on.

Fred wondered how long FP's good humor would last if they followed down lead after lead and had to abandon the search for Jughead at last. He knew that the difficult process probably just needed to be seen to its end, though, for everyone's closure. In that sense it was a relief that Archie did not hold out any hope of Jughead's being alive - if that had not been the case, Fred knew he never would have been able to convince his son to take the deal and return to Riverdale so early in his little international trip.

For all of those reasons Fred didn't tell either FP or Archie about his own growing feeling that if Jughead was going to be found, it would be while following down this latest lead in Toronto. FP didn't need to have his hopes dashed any harder if it turned out that Fred's instinct was wrong.

**00000**

**I'll enjoy reading any and all reviews - particularly as things are really moving forward and starting to converge. :) **

**I hope your week is going well!**

**-Button**


	10. Chapter 10

**This story. I just keep writing. It just keeps rolling. Enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Jameson had listened to Brand's complaints and Jones' account of what had happened both in their home and then while making deliveries. He knew exactly which four men had come after them long before Jones gave him descriptions of the three he'd seen in daylight. Not that Jameson would share that information with a vengeful Brandon.

A vengeful Brandon who had said far more of his piece than Jameson thought entirely appropriate, and done so right in front of his impressionable young associate, Jones. It had all been quite offensive, though Jameson held his peace during their visit.

Instead, Jameson summoned Daniel the following evening to help plan and execute his next moves.

"It's time to deal with our Bennington rogues," Jameson told Daniel first. "They've had enough rope, and I think they've fashioned quite the noose out of it."

Daniel thought that was long overdue, and his nod was firm. "I'll have that done tomorrow."

"Good, because tonight I have a different job for you," Jameson frowned now. "As long as we're breaking up problematic factions, I want Brandon and Jones separated. You can keep Jones with you, right? Your daughter went home early, so you've got the house to yourself?"

"I'm really not much of a babysitter," Daniel objected. "Just ask my daughter. She left early for a reason."

"You have a dog," Jameson seemed puzzled, as if he truly could not see the difference between housing Jones and keeping a dog. "Well, no matter - bring him here. I can have a kennel brought in."

Ah. That explained the dog comment.

"You know, maybe I could manage Jones for just a little while. My daughter is coming again before too long, so I'll need everything in place for that visit, but that still gives us some time to deal with Brandon." Daniel knew he wouldn't win any points with Brand or Jones for this selfless act, but he had a conscience he had to live with.

"Perfect," Jameson spread his hands as if a major rebellion and a minor one that both required squelching over the next twenty-four hours really was 'perfect.'

Daniel waited until he was leaving to roll his eyes.

**00000**

"Hey Brand, can I go to the bookstore?" Jughead asked from the bunk above his godfather. Boredom and claustrophobia had made him bolder, and Brand had been noticeably friendlier since the attempted kidnapping the day before. Jughead was relieved, though he knew better than to count on this new truce surviving any serious conflict arising between them. "Roy doesn't have a very wide selection of reading material." Jughead dangled a gun magazine down for Brand to inspect.

"You might learn something from that," Brand grunted. "We'll go to a bookstore tomorrow morning, okay kid?"

They had not gone home after meeting with Jameson the previous day. Roy had been as good as his word in setting up a safe house for Brand and Jughead, and so they'd gone first for a drive around the city to be sure they were not followed - they'd parked their car in a long-term lot near a tourist area - and then they'd taken a cab to this apartment.

Jughead still wasn't sure what had happened to make Brand think they needed these kinds of maneuvers at precisely this moment, since Jameson had assured them that he'd deal with the would-be kidnappers, but apparently they were suddenly high-risk targets and needed to 'take matters into their own hands.'

No longer doing jobs for Jameson sounded good to Jughead, so his only complaint was the lack of reading material in their one-bedroom crash pad.

Jughead launched himself from the bunk to the floor and began doing push-ups.

"We have neighbors below us," Brand said mildly.

"Sorry," Jughead made a mental note: no jumping. "Can I go for a run?" Being without their in-home gym to blow off steam was making him restless.

"No," Brand closed his laptop to give Jughead his full attention. "We are officially in hiding. Think Anne Frank."

"That would be a good book to have right now," Jughead mused.

"I will kill you if you complain one more time about being bored." Despite his threat, Brand's tone was light and indulgent. He got up from his bunk to investigate exactly what reading material was in the tiny apartment. Brand returned from the main area of the apartment a moment later with a paperback. "Take this… three-hundred page quiz, wow... to see if he's just not that into you."

"This isn't a quiz," Jughead accepted the book reluctantly, holding it away from himself as if it was repulsive. "This is… a dramatic read-aloud!"

"What did I just say about killing you?" Brand flopped back onto his bunk with a longsuffering sigh.

"Just as long as you do it softly," Jughead quipped, opening the book with demonstrative relish. "We have neighbors, you know."

"I'm trying to work, kid," Brand warned.

"Ahem. 'If he likes you-,'"

"Do not finish that sentence, Jones!" Brand rolled off of his bunk onto the floor with a thud and made a grab for the book.

"Brand! The neighbors!" Despite things having apparently returned to what passed for normal for them, Jughead immediately submitted when Brand began playfully roughhousing - he didn't want to risk escalating the lighthearted interaction into something more fraught. Brand pinned him easily and took the book away from Jughead.

Upon further perusal, Brand had to admit that the book really did look awful.

"Fine. We'll go to a bookstore before you self-destruct from boredom. Get your jacket," Brand relented.

**00000**

Daniel was not entirely surprised to find the row home empty, though he was sure he did not know what had tipped them off. Brand sometimes seemed like he had a sixth sense. Maybe a seventh as well.

Sitting on the stoop of the house, Daniel reflected on the unusual pairing of Brand and young Jones. Usually when these sorts of duos turned up in the city they were strategic power pairs with complementary abilities. In some instances there might be a clear apprenticeship taking place, but only rarely did that work to their advantage if trouble arose. In those cases there was the unenviable combination of an easy target and a distracted professional.

Brand had so far broken the mold: he'd been much more cunning than most, and Jones didn't seem to be slowing him down one bit. In fact, Daniel was beginning to suspect that Jones, instead of representing a weakness, held some innate value that made Brand even more dangerous. Jameson might be right to split them up for that reason alone, but the splitting up process itself might be trickier than they had anticipated.

Daniel was going to need some time to track them down anyway, but he decided he'd also call in some favors for cleanly extracting Jones. The last thing they needed was some sort of Rambo reenactment in a residential area - they'd come close enough to that the other day with the very public rogue attempt to kidnap Jones.

Thankfully Daniel lived just a few blocks away from the row house, so it would be simple enough to get that process started.

**00000**

The bookstore wasn't as large and well-stocked as Jughead's favorite one, but it was more than sufficient for his need to have something to read while they kept their heads down in the apartment Roy had arranged for them.

"How long are we going to be holed up?" Jughead held eight books and eyed another on the shelf.

"Unless you're expecting a miracle where the books don't run dry," Brand picked up the ninth book, '"get a few more. Maybe some of those Russian books over there. They look long."

"Or just get a copy of Sun Tzu so we can speed things up, maybe?" Jughead accepted the ninth book but declined the Russian books as being too dark for current reading circumstances. Except _War and Peace_. That was always worth a reread, and Brand was not wrong: it would occupy him for quite a while.

"If there's a book on the care and feeding of teenagers in small spaces, let me know," Brand raised his eyebrows at Jughead.

Jughead shook his head mock-woefully in response and his hair fell into his eyes. With both hands full of books he couldn't push it back effectively - which was probably why he missed most of what happened next.

Brandon caught only a glimpse of a broken nose, taped up but clearly in nasty shape, before he wrapped one hand tightly around Jones' face while dragging him to the floor behind the nearest bookshelves. He knew Jones' first instinct was always to make noise, so he waited for the initial muffled yelp into his hand before trying to communicate with his charge in a harsh whisper: "Shut up and stay down. Do not let yourself be seen, and get out of here through the back as soon as you have a clear shot."

Jughead pushed Brand's hand off of his face, but he didn't make another sound as Brand stood back up to assess the situation more fully.

It was not Jameson's guy.

"Huh. Never mind; it's just a weird coincidence," Brand offered Jughead a hand since he was now sprawled on the floor of the bookstore, his book selections strewn around him.

"Are you kidding me?" Jughead grabbed his hand and hopped lightly to his feet. "You couldn't have confirmed that before tackling me?"

"All right, we're done discussing this here," Brand directed. "Get your books; we're heading back."

Jughead wished this was the craziest thing that had happened to him this week. His life was getting so weird that he had a feeling he was losing perspective on exactly how messed up it was.

Unlike the woman two rows over.

She was glaring at Brand like he was a purse-snatcher or something, and must have seen his maneuver just now. Jughead's face started burning with embarrassment, though he could not decide what exactly he had to be embarrassed about. He just wanted to leave, now, before anything else happened in public.

It wasn't until they'd purchased the books and begun heading back toward the apartment that a question suddenly occurred to Jughead: "Why did you want just me down, and not both of us?"

**00000**

Fred didn't like Dominic Rose. This seemed like it should be a relative thing, considering he'd presumably been meeting primarily criminals and gang members while traveling with FP. Nevertheless, when they managed a sit-down with Rose in Toronto after FP had dropped Archie off successfully in New York state at a bus station, Fred felt a very different kind of dislike for the man he'd met briefly before being barred from the discussion between Rose and FP.

Waiting in an overly ornate room for the meeting to conclude, for the first time Fred found himself hoping that Jughead had not somehow made his way to Toronto. There were worse things than being dead, and this man reminded him of that in his every gesture and turn of phrase. If Brandon had brought Jughead here and handed him over to Rose, there was a chance that FP might find him alive - but Fred couldn't imagine they'd bring home a Jughead they recognized. This was a man who had humans devoured, body and soul, for profit.

FP seemed to feel much the same way about Rose generally, but nothing could make him hope Jughead was not in Toronto.

To be fair, Fred acknowledged, FP had been clear-eyed from the start about the possibility that someone like Rose had gotten ahold of Jughead. Fred was operating from a position of shock as he was only just now confronting the full, disturbing range of possible outcomes for a missing teenager. And it wasn't that he didn't want to learn the truth: certainly the worst option possible would be to leave Jughead to fend for himself with a man like Rose.

After more than an hour of waiting, Fred was rejoined by FP and they left the cold marble mansion and the 'audience' with Rose. Fred waited for FP to speak first with his impressions.

"Blossom sure could pick 'em," FP said darkly. "It sounds like the codger got his, though."

"FP," Fred spoke in a warning tone. This sounded suspiciously like information he did not want to be privy to.

"Right, right," FP shook his head absently. "Dom was vague, but I think we're on the right track. My guess is we're walking into the middle of a turf war and Rose hasn't decided which side he's on yet. He might even be waiting to see how we manage before he throws in with one faction or another."

"FP, I can't be hearing any of this," Fred's tone went from warning to scolding.

"I really can't be any more vague than that!" FP gestured in frustration. "Look; I can leave you in the motel while I catch up with people, but that's the best I can offer if you won't at least try to keep up with the broad strokes of what's going on."

"That might be for the best, then," Fred was still shaken, just from his brief meeting with Rose, and wasn't at all certain he'd be capable of helping in any other circumstances in the city if this was the tenor of the people they'd be interacting with.

"Fine," FP bit out. He was clearly disappointed, but after a few moments of silence he spoke more gently. "Will you keep your cellphone on and handy?"

"I will. Of course I will."

"Dom talked about Blossom," FP's tone became hopeful, but his expression made it clear that he was painfully tentative about that hope. "Then he mentioned a courier. He didn't say anything definite, but..."

"You think Jughead's working as a courier for Rose?" Fred's eyebrows shot up. This seemed like far more than they could have hoped for in such a short timeframe.

"Not for Rose, no; Jameson's the more likely person around here," FP shot Fred an apologetic look. "Sorry, I know. No information."

"No, it's okay," Fred frowned thoughtfully, too caught up in the excitement that they might actually have a lead to shut down the sharing of random details he might later be called upon to testify about. "Do you really think Rose has seen Jughead?"

They could be so close. This was starting to feel possible.

"I don't know," FP glared into the distance. "Rose certainly wants me to suspect that, but he didn't give me enough to be sure. If I knew what he wanted, I'd know what to think."

"Maybe," Fred was skeptical about that; he felt like he was going to get a headache from these deep games and honestly wasn't sure he'd ever know what to think of the few details he'd reluctantly picked up along the way from FP. Nevertheless, 'maybe' was more than he'd dared to hope a week prior.

**00000**

Daniel had called in his favors to locate and retrieve Jones. He was waiting for their update, and found himself pacing in his office. That was always a sure sign that he was at his wit's end.

Daniel had been surprised when there was no immediate indication of where the two men had gone to ground, and Jameson was right to be increasingly upset by this as days passed with no news. Apparently it was one thing to show a rogue faction the door, a move largely applauded by everyone they had ties with, and quite another to do so when all witnesses of the stated cause for finally taking that action (their invasion of Brand's home) were conspicuously missing.

They were so conspicuously missing, in fact, that Daniel had to give Brand props: he and Jones had holed up masterfully and they had obviously committed to disappearing for as long as it took to destabilize Jameson. The sharks were circling with more energy every day.

Daniel reluctantly found himself more sympathetic to Jones than he'd ever expected to be, too, as he learned more about the youth. First, Daniel was very surprised to learn that Jones was his daughter's age and not eighteen as was believed by everyone in Jameson's network. Second, the teen was apparently not just the flashpoint for a controversial missing person case (his hometown was inexplicably divided on whether or not he had died in two separate fires), but he was also apparently well-liked and had left behind family when he'd thrown in with Brand. Daniel had assumed that a kid like Jones had no family or support network, and he wondered if the youngster would make the same decisions again, given the choice.

Not that he'd be offered a choice. Poor kid.

Daniel's pacing picked up speed as he suddenly wondered if there might be another option here.

Jameson was not a good bet any longer. Rose was the kind of man Daniel could only work with if he gave up on all scruples - and any hope for his own soul. If Brandon was seriously considering walking away from Toronto, permanently, there might be another way to salvage the situation and to rebuild elsewhere: turning state's evidence.

It would only work with Brand's cooperation, and they'd have to get so far clear of Jones that they could never be connected to the kid's fate. Not probably a difficult task with Jameson ready to put the kid on ice; he didn't have the best track record for keeping prisoners alive for long. Brandon would have to be on board, though, or the deal would never fly.

He might be losing his mind, or cracking under the stress, but the more Daniel thought about it, the more he wondered if this new, crazy plan might just work. It was messy, but it was suddenly the only way he could see of getting entirely free of the downward spiral his work - his life - had become.

**00000**

When Brand and Jones had gotten back to their apartment from the bookstore venture, Jughead was sobered by Brand's frank explanation that they were off the radar primarily to keep him from being grabbed - and that nobody was coming after Brand. Apparently Jameson liked to make a show of strength if anyone was perceived to be defying him, and he had a history of going after whomever he perceived to be weakest and using that person as leverage to show his associates that the strong could be made to toe the line.

Brand had returned to lying in his bunk and Jughead was sitting on his top bunk, legs dangling over the side.

"I guess there's not much chance he'd go after you to force me to publicly vow subservience, huh?" Jughead attempted a weak joke.

Brand did not dignify it with a response.

"Because that might actually work-," Jughead both wanted to know and didn't want to know, "but how would taking me get him leverage?"

Brand noted with frustration that Jones was still trying to make sense of Jameson instead of having some of the fear of God put into him. That was dangerous; if he truly thought this was a game or some kind of puzzle, then he might not be quick enough to fight for his life when someone came for it.

"Ever heard of deterrence, Jones? Like when they used to string up moldering corpses as a warning? That would be you, only you wouldn't be dead. For a while, anyway."

This shut him up. Good.

A few minutes later, Jughead had a meeker question: "Brand… what's our next move?"

Brand hadn't responded. He was still trying to decide on his own answer to that question. There were only a few good options for getting them back on track, and seemingly fewer every day.

The good news was that Jameson was fast being destabilized by their disappearance and all of the defiance it so clearly conveyed to the stirred-up associates in the area. The bad news was that since Roy had declared himself officially cleared of all debts and scrammed, most of Brand's other friends had bowed out as well. Now he was without any real backup - and it would take a lot more 'destabilizing' to make just him and Jones sufficient manpower to safely make any power play at all against Jameson.

This time it was looking more and more like the best choice was to relocate and start from scratch in a city where Jameson couldn't reach them, which was a tricky gamble at best since Brand's skill set was fairly distinctive. An alternative was to carry on as they were: rolling the dice day after day, waiting for a change in the status quo or some unexpected support to appear, and hope that their number didn't come up.

Or Brand could try something completely different. The backup to his backup plan, a last-ditch final resort that he'd held in reserve for months now and perhaps should at least consider now that conditions had deteriorated so far.

He could turn state's evidence.

Brand couldn't keep Jones if he did that, though. Kidnappers never fared well in negotiations.

Jones' dangling legs had begun moving in a nervous rhythm. Brand reached out to calm them, leaving his hand on Jones' left ankle in a reassuring grip. "Easy there, killer. Don't tell me you're losing faith in your godfather now."

There was no reply from the top bunk, but the ankle relaxed slightly at Brand's words.

Things would have to get a little more dire yet, Brand decided. Only then would he even consider leaving the kid to the likes of Jameson.

**00000**

**I'd love to hear how you're enjoying the chapters! I would totally keep writing regardless, just because I love this story (and really enjoy the notes from Living Lucid Dream - was this chapter satisfyingly tense? ;), but it's always fantastic to hear when a story is connecting with folks. I'll be hard at work starting to pull all these threads together for you! **

**-Button**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for the great reviews! I loved the response to Daniel being Daniel Carter (Alice's dad), and did I hear a hint at a third story in there, re: Betty and Jughead getting back together? (yeah, that's definitely trilogy bait) Thanks Guest and Living Lucid Dream for your encouragement!**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's action-packed, and things are quite obviously moving toward collision now. **

**I look forward to hearing what you think!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Two days after their bookstore outing, Jughead sat cross-legged on his bunk, tapping his fingers compulsively on the cover of _War and Peace_. He'd been thinking a lot about being kidnapped and tortured - killed - as an example and a warning to the Toronto underworld of criminals.

Brand had said that any move made against Jughead would be meant to gain leverage, in order to force Brand to be a better minion and role model for other criminals to follow. But Jughead had been paying attention to Brand's tutorials on the power struggle, and he could see where this ended: there was no scenario where Brand was ever fully reinstated with Jameson and things went back to normal, even just their version of normal, in the row house.

No. If Jughead was taken by Jameson, there would have to be scorched earth in some form. Even holding Jughead hostage indefinitely would look weak, as if Jameson needed to wield a carrot or stick at all times to get loyalty from Brand.

In one dark portion of Jughead's thought process he wondered whether Brand might be waiting for the right time to make a deal with Jameson and willingly hand Jughead over in exchange for terms. Eventually that might even be Brand's only option.

"Can you stop drumming up there?" Brand was reading one of Jughead's books on the bottom bunk.

"Yeah. Sorry, Brand," Jughead stilled his nervous movement. "Want me to make lunch?"

"Sure, kid," Brand didn't look up when Jughead climbed down from his bunk.

In a twisted way, Jughead realized he should feel more wanted than ever - there was a major rift in a criminal faction that might end in bloodshed over who had him in their custody. Instead, glancing back at Brand as he stood in the kitchen of their tiny apartment, Jughead could only hope to make himself marginally useful by making peanut butter sandwiches.

Jughead wondered what magic made someone actually worth fighting for, even if their safety wasn't strategically advantageous.

God only knew.

**00000**

Brand looked over toward the kitchen. He had needed to impress on Jones that the danger was real, and that they needed to stay one step ahead of Jameson - pretty much at all costs. There was really no overkill possible with that message, and it seemed like it had been received as Brand had intended. That was helpful.

Less helpfully, Jones had begun acting like he was on death row and counting down his final days. His sleep had always been disturbed, but at this point it was nearing nonexistent. He was even watching Brand like they were predator and prey, which was probably just instinctive - but it was also counterproductive.

They needed groceries, and Brand wasn't taking him out of the apartment again after the bookstore incident . But he didn't like to leave him alone like this either. Jones was so spooked that he was becoming unpredictable, and Brand really didn't need him getting ideas about stepping so much as a toe outside of their building. Jones wouldn't last for five minutes with Jameson on high alert.

If they could train, Brand could give Jones something to focus on. Something to work on that would make him feel productive - capable - and not like he was waiting for a warehouse full of 'other shoes' to drop.

Training was a challenge with so many neighbors, though. They needed to keep quiet and not be noticed.

Brand smiled as inspiration suddenly struck.

"Hey, Jones… Want to play a game?"

**00000**

Betty really didn't want to have this conversation with Alice. She appreciated that the other girl had set up the conversation in advance, given Betty a heads up about what she wanted to discuss, and had offered to come to her house to make it all easier and more comfortable.

The problem was that there was nothing easy or comfortable about the conversation they were about to have, and Betty wasn't sure she could give Alice the reassurances she was looking for.

"Let's go upstairs," Betty managed a smile, and her strong instinct for hospitality made it a little less awkward when she saw how ill at ease Alice was.

"Did Veronica tell you the whole story? It's okay if she did," Alice seemed eager to get a few things out of the way as they climbed the stairs to Betty's bedroom.

"She told me you're wondering if you should anonymously report your suspicion that Jonas is being abused," Betty confirmed, "but I don't know if that's the whole story."

"Well, that's some of it. I'm pretty much set on anonymously reporting it at this point," Alice entered Betty's bedroom and sat on a chair. Betty sat on the edge of her bed and leaned forward encouragingly. Despite her apprehension about discussing the events of the previous fall, she felt instinctively invested now that there was someone who might be helped by her experiences. "I still wanted to talk to you, though. I've been going over this again and again in my head, and I'm not sure if I want to do more than just report it."

"Okay," Betty responded, entering her organization mode. "Let's make a list of the pros and cons."

Alice narrowed her eyes at this unexpected suggestion. "Oka-ay… I guess."

"Seeing it on paper can be very helpful," Betty assured her. "For instance, if you were to do more than just make an anonymous report, what would that look like?"

"I... know where he lives," Alice shrugged uncomfortably. "It's actually really close to where my father lives, which is why we met in the first place. I could bring my dad over, I guess; that seems aggressive, though."

"We'll just put it on the list of possibilities for now," Betty bit her lip thoughtfully. "What other options do you see?"

Alice laughed at Betty's matter-of-fact tone. "This is kind of like therapy.'"

Betty laughed too, though she was mildly embarrassed by the characterization. "Not intentionally, I promise. I'm probably just… well, you should probably know that I'm not the best person to give advice." Betty's tone darkened a bit. "Things didn't end well with - last fall."

"Yeah," Alice frowned. "That sort of thing is kind of what I'm worried about. So let's list all the options. I can at least make an informed decision."

"Why don't I get us some snacks," Betty sensed this could take a while. "We'll try to come up with every possible approach."

"Pros and cons, baby!" Alice smiled gratefully. She watched Betty leave the room and then leaned back in her chair. She had a good view of Betty's bookshelf and noticed a yearbook from the previous school year.

Alice was suddenly curious and, with a guilty glance at the doorway, she decided she had enough time to briefly page through it. Alice pulled it from the shelf, but as she brought it toward her lap it fell open and a cascade of papers went all over the floor.

"Do you want-," Betty reappeared in the doorway just in time to see the yearbook spill across her bedroom floor. "Oh my god, you're going to think I'm crazy." Betty hurried into the room, but instead of being angry about Alice's discovery she seemed mortified.

That was when Alice realized they were not papers that had spilled over the floor. They were pictures. A few appeared to be print copies of online news articles.

Each one had an image of Jonas.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe just a little crazy," Alice stood up and backed away quickly, shocked. "I... I should go."

Betty stood in the middle of her room, momentarily overwhelmed by the photos strewn across the floor. She heard Alice leave through the front door before she finally began to scoop the photos back into the yearbook where she'd crammed all photographic documentation of Jughead and the search for him.

Taking a deep breath, Betty pulled out her phone to text Veronica. 'I think I scared Alice. Maybe a lot. She found my photos of Jug.'

Veronica's response was swift and brief: 'Sleepover tonight. I'll be there in an hour. Hang in there, B.'

**00000**

Jughead did not want to play a game. He mostly wanted to sleep, but there was pretty much zero chance of that these days.

"Not a card game or a board game, Jones," Brand continued to explain while Jughead assembled peanut butter sandwiches with the last of their supplies. "This is some vital training we've never gotten around to. Only it's real quiet, and there are some rules. You can get points, and you can win. We'll keep score as you go." Brand figured that might appeal. It would certainly be something new to focus on.

"So we can train and it won't disturb the neighbors?" Jughead was interested now. Anything that could give him even the slightest edge if the worst came to pass sounded intriguing. "Okay. I'm in."

They ate their sandwiches before Brand explained more.

"So this is a game of logic and strategy. You'll be learning the art of reading people and situations," Brand began. "I call it-," he named it on the spot, "'Fight, Wait, Beg, or Scream Like Hell.'"

Jughead felt himself go pale, in spite of the calories he'd just choked down helping his shaky blood sugar. His stomach wasn't in the greatest shape these days either. "And… this won't disturb the neighbors?"

"Nope," Brand grinned proudly. "You're going to love this one. It's all practical."

Jughead sincerely doubted he'd love anything about this game.

**00000**

Ten minutes later, Jughead could admit that the game wasn't all that bad. He was lying on the floor, blindfolded and with his hands duct taped behind him, but he had almost managed to get his hands free with Brand's coaching.

"So this would have worked in the trailer?" Jughead asked curiously as he finally worked his hands free from the tape and whipped the blindfold off.

"No." Brand smirked. "This will work with anyone casual, though, or someone in a hurry - or just sloppy. This is the Fight part of the game. It's the most useful, so let's try a few more. Ever escaped from a zip tie?"

Jughead wasn't entirely sure what one was.

"Hands behind your back, kid," Brand pulled his backpack out from under his bunk.

Jughead looked at him and didn't move.

"This is not the Fight part, Jones."

Jughead sighed and turned around before obediently offering his wrists to Brand.

"First lesson: not like that." Brand rotated Jughead's wrists. "This position will give someone smart an extra step, and you always want them to have extra steps because that means you're still breathing. Someone inexperienced might even tie you up this way and then you'll be able to slip free later."

Note to self, Jughead thought. He tried to memorize the feeling so he'd be able to use muscle memory in future rounds of the game.

"These have a few weaknesses, and I've definitely seen them over-relied on," Brand explained the zip ties further.

That escape turned out to be fun. It was fast, and it was deeply satisfying to know that there was a trick to it. Jughead was warming to the game more and more.

"Anyone worth their salt isn't going to give you that opportunity, even if they do use zip ties," Brand warned, "so let's talk through the rest of the game. If you _can_ get free, do it when nobody is watching. That means you don't let them catch you halfway freed either. That's a recipe for a beating and then being tied up so viciously that you'll never get loose."

Jughead nodded. That seemed like it was just good sense.

"If you can't free yourself, the Wait part of the game begins. It's a lot more important than it might sound. Don't get worked up," Brand leaned forward and made careful eye contact. This might save Jones' life if Jameson ever did get ahold of him. "This is when you take a nap, recite Shakespeare, sing the ABC's in your head. Don't wear yourself out and don't make anyone around you nervous. That wouldn't end well."

Jughead didn't like that waiting might become his only option in a situation, but he also figured they didn't need to practice it. After all, he had some experience with that already.

"Now, the good news is that you have one major advantage if you're ever stuck waiting," Brand continued, "because there's something specific that you're waiting for: me. The name of that game is just staying alive, however you can manage it, until I can get to you."

Jughead nodded slowly.

"The begging is a judgment call." Brand made a face now, indicating his distaste for this factor. "Some people will beat you if you beg, and others will beat you if you don't. The good news is that trial and error are your best friends in either scenario. I'm partial to not begging and seeing how that goes first, but everyone has their own style. Ultimately, you do whatever keeps you alive."

That was hopefully not about to be part of their game. Jughead felt uneasy just thinking about it.

"Scream Like Hell comes in if there's ever a threat to your survival and you can't protect yourself." Brand thought for a moment. "This might be your air getting cut off, or maybe you're about to fall out of a moving vehicle - or you've started bleeding more than you should. Basically, the message is that you need attention badly enough that it doesn't matter any longer whether it's good attention or not. If you know you're alone somewhere and you've been left gagged, this is a good default. You can often be heard better than you think through a gag, and it's usually there for a reason." Brand gestured toward the walls to indicate their neighbors.

Jughead nodded yet again. It all made good, logical sense, but hearing it laid out clearly somehow helped.

"So let's see how well you can assess the situation," Brand pointed to the floor. "Lie down on your stomach and let's start fresh."

With a nervous feeling running through him, Jughead complied.

A couple of minutes later, a fully-restrained Jughead looked up at Brand ruefully. "This is Wait, right?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Brand patted his head. "Now remember, we're playing a quiet game, so just for the record this is not Scream Like Hell - but it would be if you were actually kidnapped." Brand picked up Jughead's discarded blindfold and tied it back over his eyes. There was still some light coming through, and Jughead figured he could dislodge it with some effort. Not while Brand was watching, though. That was one of the rules.

Jughead thought for another moment. "Wait, why would this be Scream Like Hell?"

A kitchen towel was suddenly being forced into his mouth.

Oh.

Brand pulled a zip tie tightly around Jughead's face so he would not be able to spit the towel out. It was profoundly uncomfortable having so much fabric crammed into his mouth, but thankfully it wasn't choking him.

"I've got to go get us some more food-," Oh God, he was going to leave him this way, "-but I don't actually need you to practice waiting."

Jughead found that ironic as he waited silently for more information.

"So I'm leaving a knife here for you to figure out how to use." A dull thump followed as something heavy was dropped onto the carpet. "Have fun, kid."

Brandon left then, and Jughead heard the apartment door close behind him.

All right, then, Jughead thought to himself determinedly. Brand was going to have to revisit 'Fight' when he got back and Jughead was ready and waiting for him. He started to struggle toward where he'd heard the thump.

**00000**

It had taken all of five minutes back at home from his several-day road trip back from the Canadian border for Archie to realize exactly how much trouble he was in. Four of those minutes had involved locating his phone charger and then accessing his missed texts and calls.

'Ronnie's going to kill me,' Archie scanned text after text. Betty had texted him too, breaking the cold silence that had grown up between them for an even colder set of messages. "Yikes, Betty. Tell me what you really think," Archie murmured aloud in response to the harsh words on his phone's screen.

Archie was getting worried about showing his face at school on Monday, so he figured he'd better face the music before then. He armed himself with two ragged bouquets from the earliest of the spring wildflowers in his backyard.

Hopefully they'd be deemed 'charming' by the girls, because from the look of his phone he needed every advantage he could get.

He'd catch Betty first since she was nearby and more likely to shut down the conversation if the past few months were any indication. Then Archie could find Veronica and spend the rest of the day apologizing and explaining himself.

That might be a good start.

**00000**

Fred had declined to go with FP to follow up with contacts in the Toronto area after the intensely creepy experience of briefly meeting Rose. That left a lot of hours in the day, and Fred couldn't picture himself playing tourist or relaxing - so instead he pulled up a saved file on his laptop and printed off a stack of the missing person flyers they'd circulated throughout the previous fall and winter. Thus armed, Fred began exploring the city and posting the flyers wherever he was permitted. It was enough of a long shot to essentially be a waste of his time, but it handily beat twiddling his thumbs and waiting for FP to call with updates.

The two men fell into an easy rhythm, spending the day out and about and comparing notes over dinner vaguely and without much to report. FP headed out again for the evening while Fred developed his own plan for the next day and called Archie on the cheap disposable phone he'd bought for his son for his trip home.

This pattern might have continued for some time, had Fred not made the leap of intuition that fugitives probably did not use library cards.

**00000**

Jughead made it to the knife, but even when he finally got it into his bound hands it was obvious that he was still going to have some trouble: it was a pocketknife, and Brand had duct taped it shut.

There was not a lot of purchase on the tape, and even after getting the blindfold off Jughead couldn't see what he was doing with his hands taped securely behind him.

When Brand got back with groceries, Jughead was frustrated and sweaty - and still basically in the same position he'd been left in.

"Huh," Brand walked over and sat down on a chair to examine Jughead. "You went with the pocketknife. Interesting choice."

Jughead froze. He looked up at Brand, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows lowering.

"The hunting knife is behind you," Brand pointed. "Much easier to use. Someone clever will often make an effort to keep you distracted and busy, though. Remember that."

Jughead wondered if extreme frustration was another game condition for 'Scream Like Hell.'

"Let's see you get out now that you know where the hunting knife is. Try not to attract attention to yourself while I put away the groceries."

Brand left Jughead alone once again.

This was less fun. Jughead still had to admit that it might one day come in handy, though. He started cautiously shifting so he could see in the direction Brand had pointed. Finding the hunting knife with his hands before actually laying eyes on it could be dangerous.

Brand smiled approvingly from the kitchen. The death row look was long gone now.

**00000**

Alice was furious that Riverdale had been ruined for her. It had been jarring enough to lose Toronto as a haven when her new friendship with Jonas had devolved so quickly and it turned out that he was messed up beyond belief and caught up in some insane, violent criminal life. To have her new female friendships in Riverdale tainted by some psychotic obsession with her brief, admittedly romanticized tale of Jonas was somehow even more disturbing.

Sometimes it really was a curse to have divorced parents. Drama that managed to span two countries just seemed too cruel.

There were blessings involved too, though, Alice had to admit as she used her father's credit card to secure transportation back to Toronto. She could blow this small town much sooner than she had planned - or her school schedule technically allowed - and she knew that she could rely on her father's guilt to keep him from sending her back right away.

While packing her bags furiously, it occurred to Alice to wonder how Betty had even found all those photos of Jonas. Being a journalist's daughter must have some serious perks. Not that Alice would know; her mother was only just rediscovering the working world at _The Register_.

Once she'd finished packing, there was still a twenty minute wait for her Uber. Alice decided to leave Betty with one parting shot as she left town.

She texted Kevin.

**00000**

"Oh, um, hi Veronica," Archie was surprised and caught completely off guard by his girlfriend being dropped off at Betty's house while he was walking across the street there himself. "I was actually planning to visit you next."

Archie held out one of the ragged bouquets he'd assembled.

"Oh, Archiekins," Veronica had been furious with Archie for days. But somehow it was really hard to maintain that anger when she was literally on her way to comfort her best friend over rekindled memories of her murdered boyfriend. Archie's best friend.

Seeing Archie in front of her, safe and sound, was suddenly all the apology Veronica needed. Not that she'd let him off that easily.

"Now is really not the best time, but let me just say that all will be forgiven as soon as you give me the apology you've no doubt been preparing since you went... wherever it is you went... to help FP grieve."

The story had clearly become garbled in the retelling, but Archie sensed that now was definitely not the time to set that record straight.

"Is everything okay?" Archie looked from Veronica to Betty's front door. "Why is it not a good time?"

Betty's front door opened.

"You're both here," Betty stood in her doorway. She looked pale and dazed, like she might be in shock, and her tone was faintly hysterical. "Can you read this text message for me? I keep thinking I'm reading it wrong, but the words… I think they just keep saying what I think they're saying."

Archie and Veronica looked at each other, Archie's expression asking what was going on - and Veronica's expression attempting to relay that she'd had no clue things were _this_ bad.

"Uh, sure, Betty," Archie reached her first, but Veronica was quick to follow and take Betty's arm.

"Let's sit down," Veronica guided Betty to the couch in her living room while Archie looked at Betty's phone to try and piece together what had happened.

"The text from Kevin?" Archie was confused. Betty nodded weakly. "He wants to know why Alice thinks you have a bunch of photos of someone named Jonas."

Veronica's jaw dropped. "Oh. My. God."

**00000**

Nobody was more shocked than Fred was when he walked into yet another bookstore, politely repeated his spiel about a missing American teenager who was thought to be in the Toronto area, produced a copy of the flyer he'd printed - and Jughead was recognized.

"He's missing?" The cashier's tone was more shocked and sympathetic than Fred expected after having repeated this conversation dozens of times in shops around Toronto. "Of course you can post flyers here. Let me take a few to post around the neighborhood, too. You know, I noticed he wasn't in the last couple of weeks, but I thought he was just sick. I guess his dad's probably out looking for him too."

"Wait, what?" Fred was sure he must have misunderstood the cashier. "Do you mean… do you know him?" Fred reminded himself to be cautious; even if the answer was yes, this might still be a case of mistaken identity. They'd experienced plenty of those over the past few months.

"Well, not really," the cashier shrugged.

Fred felt his heart sink with disappointment. "Oh."

The cashier continued to speak. "You know how it is. I just feel like I get to know the people who come in every week, even when I don't really know anything about their lives beyond the books they read."

The abrupt turnaround left Fred dizzy. "Wait - hold on. Could you run that by me one more time? You don't know him personally, but you have him - and his father - as regular customers?"

The cashier was examining the flyers he'd removed from Fred's stack, but he looked up to nod. "Yeah. Thursday nights. How can I help? I know a lot of people in the area."

Fred had to close his eyes as his emotions surged, and it took a monumental effort to speak calmly: "Do you happen to know where they live?"

**00000**

**Oh man, oh man. I'll enjoy any and all of your reviews immensely while I work up the next installment. I hope your week is off to a great start!**

**-Button**


	12. Chapter 12

**It's that point in the story where we have serious cliffhangers. I'll try to post speedily, yet without loss of quality in my editing and such. You are welcome. ;) **

**I loved the reviews from the last installment too; thank you many times over to Guest and Living Lucid Dream for the great notes! I have really enjoyed Fred (he's a character that definitely has a mind of his own!), and I laughed about Brand being a "sneaky troll." He so is. In a twisted way, I have deep affection for how irritating he can be.**

**Who will prevail? I hope you enjoy finding out! (we've got a few more chapters, but... it's getting real.)**

**-Button**

**00000**

Fred hated to admit that he was being swayed by FP's reasoning. Begging, pleading, whatever. This was definitely not the proper way to do things; Fred had assumed they'd be calling the FBI and coordinating with the Canadian authorities to locate and recover Jughead now that they had such a solid lead.

FP insisted that involving the authorities could mean the end of any possibility that they might find Jughead.

"You've heard Archie's story a million times," FP was pacing around their motel room like a caged animal. "All he did was blink. He made _one call_ for backup. For months he's insisted there wasn't enough time for anyone to get to Jughead before the trailer burned. That's how quickly my boy disappeared without a trace. Archie swore up and down that it was just one phone call for help-,"

Fred couldn't help wincing at the accusations, however oblique, that Archie was somehow to blame for some part of what had transpired over the past few months. Whatever had actually transpired.

It was all being called into question now.

Fred also recognized that FP was bound to take any shots right now, including those below the belt, if he thought there was any chance at all that it would help him get Jughead back.

Because Jughead was alive. He'd been nearby at some point during the last several weeks. Most likely he was still somewhere in Toronto, probably with Brand, who had a lot more luck than scruples but had apparently kept Jughead close to hand and alive - Fred didn't want to even think the word 'safe' until he knew for sure, but evidence suggested that as well - for all of these months.

"Please, Fred," FP might not have been begging before, but he certainly was now. "I can get all of the Serpents who live north of the border here in one day - maybe less - and we can just find him. Get him out. Then we'll call everyone. I promise. Please, help me get my boy back before some sheriff tips his hand and we lose him again."

"Okay-,"

"What if it were Archie?!" FP practically roared the words, anticipating objections. "You know I'd do the same - and more-,"

"I said okay." Fred interrupted FP. "This time... I actually agree. Let's get Jughead back first and ask questions later."

FP blinked back tears for the second time on their trip. "Oh. All right, then. Okay." He took a deep breath. "I've got some calls to make. You won't want to hear 'em." His voice was rough.

"You've probably got that right," Fred took a deep breath. "One day, right?"

"Not a word of this to anyone-,"

"I know." Fred nodded solemnly. They stood in silence for a few moments before Fred spoke again, still trying to make the words feel real. "FP, he's alive. We made it this far; we're going to bring him home."

**00000**

Archie stared at the girls, who were united in their analysis of Kevin's text: Jughead was alive, and he was in Toronto. Going by the name Jonas. Friends with Alice.

"No cellphone? No E-mail address? How did we miss all these signs?" Veronica ranted. "We knew something was off about that whole story, and yet we asked almost _nothing_. What is wrong with us?"

"Why didn't we show her a picture sooner? One of the _thousands_ of flyers we made?" Betty had moved from lightheaded shock to a confusing mix of frustration and elation.

"Uh, Veronica? Betty?" Archie figured it was time to weigh in with a voice of reason. "It's possible that Alice might be making all this up." He was almost cowed by their expressions, but plowed forward anyway. "Seriously... what are the odds she hasn't seen a single picture of Jughead in the news? You said yourselves that her story sounded… fake."

Archie hesitated, but figured he'd better come clean about everything as long as they were already going to be mad that he disagreed with their theory about Jonas/Jughead. "And my dad's actually in Toronto right now. With FP. If Jughead was living some kind of normal life there, don't you think FP would have found him by now?"

"He's _what _now?" Veronica turned on Archie. "When exactly were you going to mention that? And where have _you_ been these last few days if FP's in Toronto?"

"Give me my phone back," Betty had no patience for any further discussion. "I'm calling your dad right now."

Archie's phone rang.

"It's him!" Archie nearly dropped the phone in his haste to answer the call. "Dad! Have you found anything? Because the new girl Alice said something really weird about Jughead that you might want to have the cops check out-," Archie figured that would settle the issue and placate both Veronica and Betty.

The girls leaned forward intently, but after Archie summarized what he knew about Alice, the rest of the conversation seemed to be largely one-sided - and not Archie's side.

Archie's expression dimmed as he listened to his father. "Uh-huh… No, I get that... yeah, that makes sense… No, I mean, it was SO fast, yeah…"

By the time Archie had hung up the girls were half convinced that they'd been wrong about everything. Alice must be crazy; there was no way this could have played out in this manner.

"They haven't found anything for sure and they're not going to call the FBI about any tips unless they actually find Jug - or once they're about to leave Toronto," Archie pocketed the phone thoughtfully, his expression serious even as Betty threw her hands in the air in frustration. Something had seemed weird about his dad's tone. "Hang on - that's not because they don't take you seriously. It's because Brand moved so fast last time, and they're worried he'd just disappear again if they tried to go in with the authorities."

The girls nodded, sobering as they acknowledged that outcome was all too possible.

"We're not supposed to tell anyone anything. My dad's going to call us back once they follow up on the lead, but it might take a while."

"Oh my god, they could actually find him," Betty breathed. "Bring him home."

Veronica was more hesitant now. "They need to make sure there is no possibility of Brand getting away again. That's the only way this can finally be over."

"They will. They have to," Betty's hands were fists in her lap as she spoke firmly, as if making a promise of retribution should the universe dare to cross her on this.

**00000**

Jughead was physically worn out from eventually winning the 'game,' but nevertheless had been unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep for hours. At this point the problem was that Brand's breathing never quite evened out into his typical sleep pattern, and knowing that his guardian was lying awake kept Jughead anxiously wakeful as well.

It was around one am when he heard Brand very quietly shift out of his bunk and slip into the other room of the apartment, closing the bedroom door behind himself.

Low tones came from the common area of the tiny apartment, and Jughead realized Brand was on the phone. He strained to hear what was being said, but quickly discovered that he'd need to climb down from his bunk and listen at the door.

It was only a few moments before his ear was pressed against the flimsy wooden door, but by then there was only silence in the apartment. Either Brand was no longer on the phone, or else he was listening to someone who had a lot to say.

Jughead massaged his eyes. The whole situation was beginning to resemble a western film where the last stand was hopeless and the only way out for the heroes was in body bags.

Not that they were heroes.

They were actually the bad guys. In fact, maybe this would be more like a mafia film where everyone ended up dead in the final scene and the audience walked away feeling more darkly satisfied than sickened - because they hadn't really been rooting for anyone anyway.

Brand's voice suddenly became audible again.

"That's real generous, Daniel, and you're right; it occurred to me as well. Our combo would work beautifully. But you know I can't do that and bring the kid with me," Brand's tone was hushed but urgent. "If you come up with any other way, give me a call back."

Jughead felt a rush of unexpected emotions as he scrambled quietly back toward his bunk. Brand would likely return to the room soon, and he didn't want to give any indication that he'd overheard the conversation.

Pulling the thin blanket and sheet over himself, Jughead suddenly knew what he had to do.

**00000**

It was after three am before Jughead was positive that Brand was asleep. He stealthily climbed down from his bunk, grabbed a single change of clothing from the dresser, and then slid his falsified passport out of the hidden pocket in Brand's jacket.

Jughead felt a wad of cash in the hidden pocket as well, and considered it for a moment. He left it all there, though; Jughead was determined not to take anything with him that wasn't completely his own.

Brand had sacrificed enough for him.

The idea of striking out on his own terrified Jughead. He knew this meant exposing himself to the dangers associated with homelessness in a large city, and maybe prison if anyone connected him to the jobs he'd done for Jameson. College would be delayed indefinitely.

He'd probably need every skill Brand had taught him, and that scared him as much as anything else.

But Jughead knew he'd have a decent chance at making it. Brand's chances would be even better: he could pursue whatever opportunity Daniel had been offering over the phone.

Whatever Brand had felt he owed to FP in terms of Jughead's guardianship was more than paid off. Honestly, Jughead reflected, it had been paid back when Brand rescued him from Joe. But there was no question of whether it was settled now. Not when Brand was willingly risking his own life, apparently turning down opportunities to escape and rebuild, in order to protect Jughead from Jameson and keep their unit of two intact.

Jughead couldn't accept any more sacrifices, though. It was time that he took responsibility for himself - before it was too late for even that gesture to make a difference.

The apartment door closed silently behind Jughead as he left.

**00000**

Since Brand had shot down his offer to turn state's evidence together, wedding Daniel's impeccable paper trails to Brand's intimate knowledge and understanding of the players (the only combination of resources that was likely to get enough traction in that arena), Daniel was still wide awake when the phone rang in the wee hours of the morning - and more than ready for some good news.

He'd received yet another unwelcome surprise earlier: his daughter had spontaneously decided to visit him and was already on her way.

"You found Jones?" Daniel asked eagerly as he answered the phone. His wagon was securely hitched to Jameson now, for better or for worse.

"I've got eyes on him. He walked right out of the building just now. Where do you want him?"

"He can stay here tonight, but that's as long as I can keep him," Daniel regretfully recalled Jameson's attitude toward housing the teen. Any plan for protecting Jones would have to be abandoned now that Daniel's own daughter was walking into the middle of everything; there was no way he could risk upsetting Jameson now. "Be discreet."

"We'll be there in twenty minutes."

Daniel hung up the phone and sighed with relief. Whatever else happened, at least the saga of Brand and Jones would be over soon.

**00000**

Jughead made his way quickly down the street, hoping that his instinct of heading toward the waterfront would get him directly to transportation out of town. He'd gone almost a block when he noticed a scurrying movement in a narrow gap between the buildings to his left.

As he glanced over to see what urban wild animal had caught his eye, Jughead was surprised by a hard shove from behind.

"Hey!" Jughead tried to sound threatening as he fell forward into a stumble. At this hour of the night there were not a lot of pleasant options for what kind of situation he might be dealing with - but that same logic might just scare off the other person if he played his cards right.

Before Jughead could pivot from the stumble and see who had shoved him, though, a knotted handkerchief was yanked into his mouth and secured at the nape of neck and, almost in the same motion, a thick hood was pulled over his head and drawn tight. The attacker seemed not to realize that he was trained to fight and Jughead took full advantage of that oversight; the hood didn't stop him from intuiting where his assailant was and landing a hard punch.

It took only an instant more for Jughead to realize that the hood was airtight. His hands went up to the heavy fabric bag before he had time to realize that was a misstep: he should have started running first.

"Thank you very much." A zip tie sang out as it closed over his wrists and even as Jughead attempted the zip tie escape that he'd practiced, he knew he'd made a fatal mistake. Strong hands were already grabbing his upper body, and when another zip tie closed over his legs it became apparent that there were two attackers.

Jughead thought of Brand's coaching and began to scream like hell through the gag and hood, hoping desperately that it was the right move and the best use of the little air he had left.

In mere seconds, though, gasping for oxygen and sickeningly dizzy from having been forcibly lifted and then slung upside down over someone's shoulder without the ability to see and orient his senses, Jughead found himself trussed up and struggling helplessly in the backseat of a vehicle against unforgiving plastic ties around his wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles.

The bag was still over his head, but Jughead gratefully discovered that he could get air through his gag now that the bag had been jostled and was no longer pulled tight. He kept up his muffled cries for help, knowing that briefly yelling probably wouldn't do him much good but that if someone heard his continued distress they might eventually investigate. He wondered if Brand had been wrong about this - it didn't seem like he was getting much sound out, and it also didn't seem to bother his kidnappers that he was making as much noise as he could. But in the split second that doubt occurred to him, Jughead decided not to think about that possibility. It was too terrifying to contemplate that he could have been rendered so helpless so quickly.

Jughead cringed and instinctively fell silent for a moment when he felt one of his attackers pull a lap belt over him, buckling his waist tightly against the bench seat that he was lying on.

"If you don't like that, you're really going to hate this," the same disembodied voice spoke again as a final zip tie was drawn loosely around Jughead's neck. "Don't give me any reason to tighten it and we'll get along just fine."

Horrified, Jughead immediately tried to calm his ragged breathing and to stop himself from reflexively fighting against his restraints. He wasn't sure what might qualify as a 'reason,' and did not want to find out.

As the vehicle began moving, Jughead wondered how many hours it would be before Brand woke up. And whether he'd still be alive by the time Brand realized he was gone.

**00000**

Brand's phone woke him up.

He stumbled out of the bedroom and was relieved when he didn't hear Jones stir. It was not yet four am and the kid had been suffering from insomnia since their outing to the bookstore. It appeared he'd finally dozed off, and he needed all the sleep he could get.

"Brandon," a smooth voice spoke over the phone. "Dominic Rose. We haven't had the pleasure."

Brand frowned deeply, closing the bedroom door so he would not be overheard. His voice was gruff when he responded. "What can I do for you, Rose?"

"Actually, I was hoping to do something for you," Rose's tone remained calm and unruffled, as if he hadn't noticed Brand's terse demeanor - or he didn't care. "I'll cut to the chase: I'd like to clear out some of our common enemies and get you and Jones safely out of this mess in Toronto. Without any of those nasty loose ends to come after either of you. How does that sound?"

"Like there's a fiddle of gold hiding in there somewhere," Brand snorted.

"Well, yes," Rose agreed easily. "I'd want something in return, but it would hardly be your soul. I'd merely like you on my payroll."

That sounded singularly horrifying to Brand.

However, he had to admit that his current alternatives were not great either.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Toronto is about to be a power vacuum, Brandon," Rose's tone grew cold now. "I don't want it to become overgrown with Jamesons again, and I can set things up so you are part of the change - but after that you'll never have to get your hands dirty again. You're not far from an age where some measure of retirement becomes appealing, unless I miss my guess about your interest in young Jones."

Brand stayed silent now.

Rose laughed. "Oh come now, did you think you were the first person to foster a wayward youth? In many ways, Brandon, you remind me of myself at your age. And it's a winning strategy; against all odds you've kept him far away from even a hint of a criminal record. You might one day have a senator in the family if he's as whip smart as I hear from my sources - and we play our cards right."

"So you want Jones?" Brand couldn't help but feel slightly offended that he might be the afterthought in a package deal.

"He's promising, but at this point barely a minnow," Rose's tone was dismissive now. "You're the one I want to work with. We'd throw Jones back in the pond and let him grow a bit before making any decisions about him... I'd stock the pond generously, of course."

Brand was having trouble following the bizarre metaphor, but he got the picture that Rose was considering taking his own modest plan for Jones - and jacking that plan up on steroids.

"What if I say no?" Brand knew this was a question that invariably gave rise to revealing answers.

"That is perfectly acceptable, with no hard feelings," Rose responded lightly. "I'd happily enjoy the show while you retrieved Jones without my help."

"Retrieved?" Brand's eyes flew to the bedroom door. It suddenly seemed ominous instead of fortunate that there had been no movement in the top bunk when the phone rang.

"Call me back within the hour with your answer."

The phone disconnected.

**00000**

**I hope you enjoyed! As always, I love (love, love) hearing from you and appreciate any and all reviews and often end up writing/revising stuff as I hear from folks and am inspired. I hope you have a lovely weekend!**

**-Button**


	13. Chapter 13

**Another chapter! Thank you so much for the thoughtful reviews, Living Lucid Dream and Guest; we are united in loving Fred, and I hope FP is getting to shine a bit this week as well. Guest, "does he even know..." is a fantastic question. I love when readers seem to read my mind - it means that even this complicated web of a story is making sense! And Living Lucid Dream, I agree that for almost everyone (but very tellingly for Brand) the last chapter was a "jump left or jump right?" moment of decision. Now they'll begin to see what they're jumping into...**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Daniel was a paperwork man. In moments of bravado he had formerly thought of himself as "pulling the trigger" on even horrifically violent plans, but he might need to amend that to "pushing the button" since it was fast becoming apparent that he'd always been a discreet and sanitary distance away from the actual implementation of the brutal orders he'd disseminated in the past. Daniel primarily interfaced with others on Jameson's behalf, lending professionalism and efficiency to his boss's orders and, more recently, translating half-baked ideas into workable strategies.

It paid very well, and Daniel had been able to give his wife and daughter not only every advantage, but also more quality time as a family than he could have dreamed of giving them if he had been in another line of work. If Bryn had not eventually become suspicious, or if she had been less judgmental about the reality for that matter, things would probably have remained stable and he would not have relocated to be in Toronto in person - and found himself so inextricably enmeshed in Jameson's decline over the past year and a half.

Daniel still fervently hoped to reconcile with Bryn, and much of his strategy for that revolved around Alice and her visits. He made occasional gestures indicating his continued interest in Bryn as well: flowers, jewelry, the usual.

Daniel was a simple man.

'A paperwork man,' Daniel reminded himself, as if that could change the stark reality that a teenage boy was lying on his dining room floor, looking painfully stiff, tied up by means of those plastic slipknots that he'd once used as a replacement hinge on his personal laptop.

When his operatives had brought Jones in with a heavy black bag over his head, as if he was ready for a firing squad, Daniel had been so horrified by the overwhelming visual of an actual human being carried roughly and so obviously against his will that he'd sent his own men away as quickly as possible so that it could all be over and done with. Only now was he realizing that he should have asked for installation along with delivery. Or whatever it was called when the delivery was a boy who was taller than you and obviously unable to help get himself into the basement. Or utility room. Maybe the second pantry off of the laundry room.

Daniel really hadn't thought this out.

Going to the wet bar, he poured himself a stiff drink. It couldn't hurt.

"What now… what now," Daniel mused aloud as he sipped and tried not to look directly at the kid. Jones had been placed on his left side, arms bound in front of him in classic supplication position with wrists and elbows cinched together and his legs drawn up defensively despite being bound at the ankles and the knees. He hadn't moved at all since being set down by the two men who had brought him into the house.

"Well, I do have a kennel," Daniel couldn't help but laugh at his own predicament. Who knew Jameson would have thought further ahead than him about this. "Let's get the bag off of you, at least."

Daniel finally approached the boy. Up close, he could see there was another zip tie over the bag; it circled Jones' neck. That looked dangerous, which suggested to him that maybe the kid himself was dangerous since he'd needed the extra precaution in place.

He _really_ hadn't thought this through.

"Okay, okay; I guess I can tighten this slightly…" Daniel had thought he recalled how the zip ties worked, but perhaps they'd become smoother in recent years. Or these were more expensive ones. Whatever the reason, the loop became tighter than he'd intended. "Ooops, sorry. I'll fix that."

The body that had been studiously still and stiff beneath him erupted in panicked motion and gasping, muffled sound.

"Can you breathe?!" Daniel jumped clear. "I don't know how to loosen these things. They only go one way. Let me get a knife." The sideboard surely had something useful in it.

By the time Daniel finally found a knife it had gotten quiet again and he was concerned that he might need to break out his rusty CPR on the kid. This night was getting worse and worse.

"Hey, you're breathing," In fact, once Daniel crouched with the knife in his hand and touched the teen, Jones' body started quivering in a clear sign of life, even though he remained silent this time. "You're fine. You really scared me."

Daniel stood up to consider the situation anew. He returned to his drink and took a larger sip. Liquid courage would have to get him through this.

**00000**

It seemed to Fred like FP hadn't stopped pacing since he'd set into motion the slow gathering of the atomized Canadian Serpents. He was particularly galvanized by Fred's obtaining an address for Alice from Archie - the first promising address they'd managed to procure - since it was apparently very near the bookstore where the photo of Jughead had been recognized. Perhaps a visit to that address would lead them to wherever Brand had holed up in Toronto with Jughead for the past several months.

Fred felt like he was trying to hold back the tide just by getting FP to wait for the Serpents' arrival.

Neither of them would sleep that night.

As the hours ticked by and the sky began to lighten, FP seemed more and more energized. Fred might have managed some light dozing in a chair, but he wasn't sure; in any event, by five am they were both downing coffee and preparing for the arrival of the first Serpents.

How many FP would be willing to wait for, Fred did not know. This whole situation was gaining the kind of momentum that he knew he would have immense trouble redirecting if that became necessary - and he certainly would not be able to halt it.

And yet... it felt cathartic. FP's anxiety was starting to shift into eager anticipation, and Fred had to admit that he was right there with him. Hopefully that positive energy would carry the day.

**00000**

Alice had wanted to arrive at oh-dark-hundred, in part simply to annoy her father, but she'd had to settle for the crack of dawn. Her cab pulled up in front of her dad's house and idled behind a van that was parked on the street. The thought of the espresso machine in the well-stocked kitchen spurred Alice to settle her fare swiftly, and at first she barely noticed the two workmen who seemed to be laughing over a shared joke as they heaved a very large duffel into their vehicle.

"What do you want to bet he just stood there all night?" Both men began cracking up all over again.

One looked over at Alice and gave her a salacious wink, which was just gross. She wondered if they were laughing at her dad, too, since it seemed like they were coming from his house with the bag.

Alice thought longingly of the espresso, but she'd seen just enough that she was irritated. "Can I help you?" Alice channeled her mother's most arch tone.

"Hey man, I got this," the non-winking man climbed into the van with the duffel and pulled the door closed behind himself.

"Maybe you can." The winker didn't seem cowed by Alice's chilly attitude. He fairly strutted toward her, and for an instant she wondered whether she'd made a mistake in confronting him.

"Alice!" Her father's voice called across the yard.

Any apprehension Alice had felt was instantly replaced by annoyance. "I'll be right _there_, dad."

"Get in the house."

Alice knew that tone. With a sigh but no further delay, she turned to obey. "Yes, dad."

"Yes, dad." The winking man mocked softly, so only Alice would hear. She turned back toward him.

"_Now_!" Alice's father was apparently still watching.

"Get lost," Alice bit out, walking away primly while the man laughed at her back.

**00000**

Brand called Rose back.

The plan was a lot like Rose himself: pretentious to the point that it made Brand wildly uncomfortable, but backed with more than enough money and influence to legitimize even its most outlandish elements.

There was also some key intel that Brand was grateful to have from Rose: Jones had been taken by Daniel - God only knows how, since they'd been bunking together - but would be handed over to Jameson early in the morning. Any time after six am Brand could simply walk into Jameson's and drop anyone who got in his way.

Simple.

Brand had dictated a shopping list to Rose, who listened in a gratifyingly attentive manner. At five-thirty sharp, all had been delivered to his door.

There were already perks of being on payroll. This might just work out after all.

Rehearsing the pieces of the narrative that Rose was particularly attached to, Brand suited up for what promised to be a very long day.

At least he'd get to start it off by doing something deeply satisfying: killing the man who'd kidnapped his godson right out of his bunk.

**00000**

For hours now, Jughead had wanted nothing more than the zip tie and hood removed from over his head. Now that Jameson had him, that desire was morphing from 'want' to 'need' very quickly.

"Get him on his feet," Jameson ordered after Jughead had been dumped onto the floor, out of the bag he'd been zipped into for transportation. He was disoriented, but assumed there was now daylight because more precautions were being taken regarding being seen.

That meant he'd survived for at least three hours.

Two men had taken Jughead away from Daniel's place after the house of horrors experience he'd learned came with having a clueless captor. Jughead would never look at a dog the same way again, knowing that inattentive owners likely pulled the same kind of crap on them that Daniel had unwittingly done to him.

These two men were definitely professionals, and while Jughead wanted to believe they were the same men who had jumped him on the street outside of Brand's safe house - because it was only more horrifying to think that there were four men who would willingly participate in his abduction - he could tell that the jocular approach of the current pair did not match the efficiency of the first two. They were more professional than Daniel, though, which was a comfort.

They also liked dropping him. That was new and unwelcome.

Jughead felt two pairs of hands seize his arms and hoist him up awkwardly. He'd been keeping his knees bent for the modicum of defense that offered, but one of the men hooked a boot onto the zip tie around Jughead's ankles and forced his legs straight.

He was sort of standing now, but Jughead didn't think he'd be able to remain upright under his own power. Not only were his legs weak from being tightly restrained and bent, but without being able to see he found that it was impossible to regain his equilibrium.

"I like it," Jameson sounded amused. "I could leash him here, just like that."

Once again Jughead's mind filled with the stories he'd heard of dogs that had been suffocated or hanged. This sounded like a death sentence, and horrifyingly it was exactly like Brand had described on the night of their recent bookstore trip.

Jameson must have come closer because a hand suddenly pushed curiously against Jughead's chest.

"Eh, he wouldn't last an hour," Jameson rejected the idea when he saw that Jughead was not remotely steady on his feet. "Could we get his arms tied behind him and string him up that way instead? That should light a fire under Brandon. I want him here sooner than later."

Jughead was surprised to find himself in total agreement with his captor.

**00000**

FP had received a call around six am about a blown out tire on the highway. The Serpents were not yet in town, and apparently the whole crew had decided to pull off the road until they could make the necessary repairs and complete the road trip together.

That phone call seemed to have flipped a switch in FP; his patience was officially gone.

As he rode in the car, Fred couldn't decide if they were subsequently going on a recon mission - or if FP was finally going off half-cocked, the scenario Fred had been bracing himself for since he began this road trip. At this point it probably didn't matter; Fred was just trying to keep up and do damage control as they paid a visit to Alice's father.

FP pulled the car up in front of the house and stepped disdainfully over a decorative fence to stride across the lawn. Fred hurried to follow, but took the extra moment to use the walkway.

"Daniel Carter?" FP began pounding on the front door. "Carter!"

Fred reached FP just as the door opened, and they were both surprised when a teenage girl raised her eyebrows at them.

"Can I help you?" Her tone dripped with sarcasm. "I assume it's _vitally_ important."

Fred seized the opportunity to take the lead while FP was visibly figuring out how to respond to this new development. "Hi - you must be Alice. I'm Fred Andrews, Archie's dad."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Alice's expression turned horrified and vaguely scared, though she still managed to maintain the sarcasm in her tone. "I just got out of Riverdale. Now you're in Toronto too?"

"Alice, I need you to tell me - have you seen my son?" FP had apparently regained his voice and had no patience for introductions. He held up his cellphone to show Alice a photo of Jughead from the previous summer, grinning over whatever he'd been typing at the time.

Staring at the photo, Alice felt her anger at Jonas and at the men in front of her begin to thaw. "Wow; he's so young there. You must be his godfather." It suddenly connected for her that something must be very wrong with Jonas. "Wait, is he missing? Did he have an attack?"

It seemed like she'd never be fully rid of caring about him, despite her best efforts.

"You've seen him," Fred was breathless with excitement when he interjected. "Where is he? Do you know where he's been living?"

"Alice?" A bookish-looking man appeared in the foyer. "We have guests?"

"Yeah, dad. Mr. Andrews is from Riverdale," Alice figured she'd created enough chaos for one morning and better just explain what she knew. "I know their sons. Well, Mr. Andrews' son and Mr. Davies' godson."

"What?" Mr. Carter's eyebrows shot up as he examined the man Alice had identified as 'Mr. Davies.' The man on the porch was not Brand, but this couldn't possibly be a coincidence. "Mr. Davies and his godson… from Riverdale?"

Fred was slower on the uptake than FP, who was slamming Daniel Carter against a wall before Fred finished parsing the confusing information: apparently Alice wasn't the only one who had some knowledge of Brandon and Jughead.

"FP!" Fred wasn't entirely sure he wanted to intervene, but this did seem wildly inappropriate - especially in front of Alice. "Uh, Alice, I know this is probably really scary. Would you mind phoning the police so that they can-,"

"NO!" The shout came from both FP and Daniel Carter.

"Huh. I guess no police," Alice folded her arms and glared. "So... I take it _you're_ the ones who've been beating Jonas?"

Everyone froze and then turned to stare at Alice.

"Dad, seriously, they're child abusers. Or, like, adult abusers. You should make a citizen's arrest."

"That's not exactly…" Fred was about to attempt explaining, but then figured they were in enough of a stalemate that he could try for a few questions instead. "How exactly do you know Jug - Jonas?"

"Aside from being an innocent bystander and witness to his criminal exploits?" Alice's tone became still darker and more sarcastic. "Hmmm, let me see."

"Okay, we're done here," Daniel tried to push FP off of himself.

"I think we're just getting started," FP slammed him back against the wall. "What do you mean by 'criminal exploits,' Alice?"

Alice narrowed her eyes at all of them when the phone rang loudly from another room. "Hang on while I get that. It's probably my mother, and she doesn't know I left Riverdale."

All three men gaped as she left to answer the phone.

"Quite the kid you've got there," FP smirked, though his eyes remained hard.

"Like you're one to talk," Daniel responded before realizing that was a very, very bad idea.

FP's knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. "_Where is he_?"

"Hey Dad, it wasn't Mom. You need to go over to Jameson's. It's some kind of emergency."

"Jameson, huh? Some kind of company you keep. Welp, you heard the lady," FP was hauling Carter toward his car even before Alice reappeared from the other room. "Let's go talk to Jameson."

"Not without me!" Alice hurried after them as they crossed the lawn, pausing only to close the front door. "I'm not done with you two."

Fred shook his head in a silent warning to FP when they made eye contact. He needed to calm down. This could be everything. Right here and right now. They needed to keep their wits about them and be ready for whatever they discovered.

**00000**

**If you can't tell we're now just a few chapters away from the end, then I'm probably falling down on the job somewhere. I hope you enjoyed, and as always I'd love to hear from you!**

**-Button**


	14. Chapter 14

**It is Independence Day in the US, so let's keep things moving forward with Jug's captivity... naturally. :)**

**Thank you to Living Lucid Dream for your review; Daniel is darkly funny to me, if not to anyone else - so you can laugh (I won't tell anyone). FP's likely to blossom a bit, because I agree - he loves Jug and in this timeline he hasn't had seasons 2/3 to mature, but he should shape up quickly now, right? (right?) That scene at the end of ch 13 was fun to see take shape as I realized who knew what (saw what/assumed what/called Jughead what). It makes me so happy to hear that it jumped out to you as well. Oh goodness, poor Alice too... Yeah, that's all a big yikes.**

**Guest, thanks for your review as well! You highlighted one of my favorite lines about the Daniel incident, and I'm actually curious about who is on Team Alice (not so much as romantic lead, but just in her corner). Her arc is doing more or less what I expected, but she's become quite a bit more complicated than I anticipated. I thought long and hard about that line about the photo, too, so I'm glad that made sense. :)**

** I am actually sensing some anxiety in the reviews about whether I'll pull a Brand, a Jameson, or (God forbid) a Rose - and do something crazy and cruel to everyone now that we are nearing the end. **

**Read on to find out! :) And, as always, I hope you enjoy!**

**-Button**

**00000**

Brand found all security systems knocked out at Jameson's house. It was almost like Rose didn't think he knew his own business. Although he really shouldn't be complaining, since this was likely to yield a personal-record-breaking body count if Jameson had the kind of personnel on site that he'd been rumored to as his paranoia deepened.

Considering what might have already happened to Jones, Brand kind of hoped the rumors were true. He had a lot of pent up energy from his sleepless night and the restless promise of change in the wind - and if things went well, then after this raid it might be a long time before he had another opportunity to practice his craft.

He'd make this one count.

The hunting knife would do for now, Brand decided as he slipped in through a window. He'd have a silenced nine mil at the ready in case he needed to slow a few people down unexpectedly, but this job could not be overly noisy.

There was already a crowd of law enforcement gathering outside to cordon off the building, or more likely the whole block, and then to wait. The press would be joining them soon.

Brand made his way into the next room. His knife made short work of the inattentive dolt drinking coffee there. Another two lackeys followed quickly as he figured out the layout of the house.

There seemed to be a larger group in the kitchen, so Brand left them for the moment. He wanted to find Jones before anyone realized they were being picked off and panicked - and got any ideas about using their hostage as a human shield.

Brand was slipping silently through an ornate hallway when he spotted his ward in what looked like a ballroom for elaborate parties.

There was a bag over Jones' head and his legs were zip tied at the ankles and knees, but he was gamely keeping his feet despite what had to be a torturous rope pulling his arms way too far up behind him, attached to an overhead railing.

An abuse of a beautiful balcony, Brand couldn't help but think, and it must be murder on Jones' injured shoulder based on how far he was bent forward to reduce the tension from his wrists - but nothing life-threatening. Noting that he could easily herd folks away from the ballroom, Brand decided to double back once he'd safely cleared more of the house.

Then he noticed that Jones' running sneakers were not flat on the polished hardwood floor. The kid was balancing blindly on the balls of his feet to try and reduce the ridiculous strain on his arms - and there was still no slack. Jameson must have intentionally had him tied so that he had to stay up on his toes in this awkward position. The rope would likely dislocate his shoulders if - when - he lost the precarious balance he'd somehow found on his bound legs.

That was just cruel.

Brand made a beeline for his helpless ward, stepping into the large, open room.

And Jameson was standing right there. Naturally.

"Hello, Brandon."

"Heya, Jameson," Brand didn't stop moving until he was between Jones and Jameson. Just in case of that human shield nonsense. He leveled the nine mil at Jameson. "Sorry we can't give you two weeks' notice."

"Such a smart mouth," Jameson didn't look scared enough for the circumstances, particularly since he appeared to be unarmed. Brand hoped that was a symptom of the man's growing insanity and not something he should actually be worried about. "There are far too many people here for you to try whatever you're thinking of trying."

Oh. The kitchen crew. If that was all, then… "Do me a favor and die quietly," Brand fired his silenced weapon twice. He sensed Jones' jerking startle response to the gun's still-loud reports and hoped nobody in the house had plans to open fire with anything that wasn't silenced. The kid's poor shoulders wouldn't take much of that kind of abuse.

The next fifteen minutes involved a deeply satisfying game of numbers, if not any real strategy, and Brand was very glad he had located Jones first. It was far more fun to dispatch everyone without any worry that they'd attempt an end run for the hostage.

"Line 'em up," Brand's grin was firmly in place when the final body fell. The intel had been good; he was satisfied.

Brand finally turned to cut Jones down.

"Hey, kid, it's me," Brand identified himself before touching Jones. "I've got you."

The hunting knife sliced easily through the rope attached to Jones' bound wrists and Brand was glad he'd already wrapped a supporting arm around Jones' ribcage when it was clear they were both headed for the floor.

Some degenerate had used a recklessly tight zip tie to secure the hood over Jones' head. When Brand realized that the thick lining of the hood didn't let air through the fabric, he really wished he could kill that guy twice. Instead he had to content himself with very gently using the hunting knife to slice through the plastic noose. He slipped the hood off of Jones' head and was suddenly aware of the brightness of the morning when Jones winced like he was blinded.

"Give it a few seconds," Brand turned his attention to the cloth gag that had been pulled too tightly and left in place for too long. "This here is going to hurt, though. You bled into it and it dried."

Jones made a move like he was trying to shrug, but didn't quite manage it. "Don't move those shoulders, kid. Take a deep breath in... right… now." Brand pulled the handkerchief from Jones' mouth and, sure enough, the movement reopened visible cuts. "Water?"

Jones nodded, still blinking like he'd been underground for a week and not hooded for a few hours. Brand gave him a sip of water from the canteen in his pack of supplies and casually began repositioning them on the hardwood floor. Once he had Jones' back to his chest and the teen was more or less sitting in his lap, it was easy work to slide their legs around so that they were facing the wall and not the impressive carnage that Brand suddenly hoped Jones was still too blinded to see. He certainly seemed too out of it to comment on Brand shifting them.

"So, riddle me this," Brand eased him forward slightly and began untying the soft cord wrapped around his wrists. At least Jameson had done one thing right: this would not add any new marks to the slowly healing bruises already on the kid's wrists. "How'd they get you out of the top bunk?"

He had a theory. He wanted it confirmed, though.

"I'm sorry," Jones' voice was a croak and as soon as his hands were freed he quickly sipped more water. "I shouldn't have left; I made everything worse. But you couldn't leave as long as I was around-,"

"I wondered if that was it," Brand sighed. "You overheard my conversation with Daniel, huh? You heard me say I didn't want to leave you, so you ran away and got yourself picked up by his guns for hire. That's some kind of logic."

"I'm sorry," Jones gulped down more water. "I thought I'd get further. That you'd be better off."

"Take it easy on the water. You've had quite the night." It was no wonder that the kid was thirsty. There were tear tracks down his face, and Brand figured there had been some yelling, all on top of dehydration from being gagged and from sweating it out through Jameson's torture. Brand didn't need him throwing up, though. "That's enough apologizing, too; I can see that you'll never try something this stupid again. The one good thing about Jameson is that I really don't need to give you a talking-to after he's punished you."

Jones gave him a ghost of a smile.

"And hey," Brand twisted his torso and leaned Jones slightly away from his chest so he could manage full eye contact, "you did good, kid. You survived, and that was not easy from what I'm seeing. You keeping yourself in one piece until I could get here counts for a lot with me."

Jones' eyes filled with tears, so Brand gently settled them both back into their previous position so neither would have to acknowledge them. Jones didn't need to move from his position leaning into Brand for the taller man to reach around him to cut the zip tie from his knees and then draw his feet up under him so the ankle tie could be sliced through as well.

Brand began slowly running one hand through his ward's hair, trying to soothe and relax the rock hard muscles that had been strained so horrifically by Jameson - and check for any hidden head injuries. Jones gradually relaxed against Brand's chest and for a few minutes they just breathed while the adrenaline continued to subside.

"Need a restroom, kid?" Brand eventually broke the silence. "'Cause I'm definitely going to want you to hose off before we leave here."

"Yeah. Give me another minute, though. My legs were starting to cramp and they're not quite back to normal."

Brand had thought he was done seeing red for the day, but the thought of what would have likely happened once serious cramps had set in to Jones' legs brought his blood pressure up once more.

"Do not move those shoulders any more than you have to," Brand focused on the task at hand to shut out the thought of Jones' near-superhuman efforts to hold on until Brand rescued him - and very nearly not making it. "We can take a little more time here, but I'm gonna need you to walk out of this house. We might have to be clever about that if you're not steady on your feet."

"Why?" Jones was puzzled. "Everyone expects me to look like crap after Jameson, right? We don't have to present a strong front or whatever. Do we?"

Brand figured it was now or never. "I cut a deal."

There was silence for a few beats. Brand could feel Jones' muscles tense back into stone.

"Hey, kid," Brand's tone softened. He wasn't sure why the idea of a deal scared Jones, but his best guess was that the kid sensed he might be left out in the cold. "This is a good thing. Tell you what, though - you just say the word and we leave right here and now, okay? We'll go west and become ranchers."

"Yeah, okay, whatever Brand," Jones slowly started testing his legs' ability to move, but from what Brand could see his expression remained apprehensive. "What's the deal?"

Brand filled him in.

Five minutes, several exclamations, and some disbelieving laughter later, Jones was left shocked by the extent of Rose's influence and connections - but he thankfully seemed a lot more interested in the deal once he understood its details.

"Do you think you can do this? You and me, this secret, and the entire world thinking something crazy? We're either all in or we're walking away." Brand hadn't shared this part of the process with Rose, but he'd privately decided that without full buy-in from Jones, the plan would be doomed. It might take a while, but it would inevitably unravel if the kid wasn't one hundred percent sold. He'd have a tough part to play - perhaps tougher because he wouldn't have Rose smoothing over anything that came up - and Brand wouldn't be there to bail him out.

"Brand," Jones looked at him like he was crazy now. "You could go straight. I could go home. If you're asking if I'd turn on you… Brand, you came back for me. I never doubted you'd come, not for a second. Us against the world? That's old news."

Brand sure could pick 'em. He ruffled Jones' hair gently. "All right, then. That's what we'll do." Brand took a deep breath; it was time to get moving. "Let's see if you can walk. I've got some painkillers that won't make you drowsy, but you'll need to remember to watch those shoulders. You won't feel the pain, so you could do some serious damage."

Jones washed two down with the last of the water and they climbed to their feet.

When they left the ballroom, Brand carefully supported Jones on his shaky legs and tucked the teen's head against his chest as they slowly made their way toward a bathroom to wash up. Brand was trying to be casual, but when he cupped one hand around Jones' face like blinders so that he could only face forward - which was actually sideways, relative to their trajectory - Jones looked up at Brand questioningly.

"Trust me," Brand said simply. He'd kept count of the death toll as he went, but there were details about this morning that he hoped Jones would be spared forever.

**00000**

Jughead figured he was taking longer in the shower than Brand preferred, but he needed to catch his breath.

Literally as well as figuratively.

Now that he was safe and under hot running water, Jughead had the luxury of noticing how sweaty and gross he'd gotten. He felt like he'd done a month's worth of workouts in well under an hour.

Which was a strange way to view what had happened with Jameson, but as he stood under the water and let it stream warmth against his impossibly stiff neck and shoulders, Jughead reflected that, despite everything, Daniel was still the scariest person he'd encountered during his ordeal.

Daniel had been the person with whom Jughead had the least influence over his own fate. There were no right moves; there were no wrong moves. He could do everything in his power and still wind up dead just because Daniel had forgotten what a zip tie was. Or was drunk. Or both.

That was the most frightening realization in an overwhelmingly terrifying night. Jughead's life had been as cheap as the flip of a coin going the wrong way.

Even being subjected to literal torture had been a relief after Daniel. It was the sort of thing Jughead could have a say in. Some influence over. There was an end goal that he could hold out hope for, too: Brand was coming. He'd been sure of it.

Even when the pain in his shoulders doubled him over and his bound wrists forced him to stay that way, it had been a relief to discover that the very stiff rope gave him enough frame of reference for 'up' and 'down' that he could find his balance and remain on his feet.

Then it was all up to him.

Jughead had figured out that he could ease forward in his sneakers, lifting his heels off the floor to gain an inch or two back, and that helped.

Unfortunately that had not gone unnoticed; the rope was pulled once more and the slack taken up.

Then it had sucked.

Jameson had stayed to watch, talking inanely at him for a bit. The words stopped making sense as Jughead's senses were increasingly overwhelmed by pain and effort, but the man's presence alone implied that Jameson thought there was something to see here - and that he thought it likely that the show would begin soon.

Before Jughead had to think about that too deeply, though, a show did begin: thankfully with Brand's arrival, and not the violent dislocation of his own shoulders.

Hearing Brand's voice had hit Jughead hard. He'd firmly believed Brand would come for him, but somehow it was still a shock that Brand actually had. Or maybe the shock was that he'd made it in time - that Jughead was still standing.

And then there had been two gunshots. And then a really, really long series of scufflings and a few more gunshots - and waiting.

And waiting.

Jughead had kept reminding himself that noise meant Brand was alive. Probably in the room still, or very close by. No doubt Brand was about to turn and help him any second. He was so close to waiting out the clock.

His legs had started shaking then. Cramps were no joke when you couldn't change position - not even slightly - without risking falling.

Just one more second. Then another. Maybe one second more. That was all he needed to do: breathe deeply just one more time through the challenging combination of gag and hood, and stay on his feet. One more second.

And then everything had been quiet.

Footsteps approached and Jughead didn't care whose they were, so long as they cut him down. He'd heard his own voice whimper pitiably into his gag at the thought.

And then, at long last, Brand had spoken to him: "I've got you."

The pain did not disappear when he fell heavily, only half caught by Brand on the way to the floor. It didn't ease while Brand began the process of untying him, inexplicably coaching him on managing the pain of the gag's removal when at that point Jughead was hardly even aware that he was still gagged.

Only when Brand gave him water, accepted the gasped apologies Jughead still felt the compulsive need to say again and again, and then began a light exploration of his skull for injury - Jughead wasn't dumb, and Brand was not subtle - did his body start to believe that he was freed and begin to relax.

It was over. Brand had come for him. He wasn't even angry, not at Jughead anyway, and while they sat on the floor, the arm that Brand had hooked around Jughead's rib cage to catch him when he fell continued gripping him tightly, as if Brand would willingly take on a few more Jamesons to keep his godson safe.

All of that was too much to process in just the few minutes they'd spent catching their breath.

On top of everything else, there was the deal. Jughead's brain didn't even want to consider that right now. He figured there would be time for sorting that out soon, so he focused instead on relaxing his muscles and enjoying the increased relief as the painkillers kicked in.

**00000**

Brand stood outside the bathroom. He was entirely confident that there was no enemy left alive on the property, and he'd even made a quick jog to retrieve the familiar backpack that had been dumped in a corner. Its straps were sliced through; someone must have cut the bag right off of Jones' back. A quick search revealed that he had taken just a change of clothing and, news to Brand, his passport. No cash, aside from what little he'd had in his wallet.

That noble streak might someday get the kid killed, but at least Brand was feeling assured that day was not today. It was kind of cute, too, Jones thinking he could simply hop a bus and light out to the territories or whatever he'd thought he was doing.

Brand really should have handcuffed him to his bunk.

Honestly, though, Brand could almost see wishing they _were_ planning to take up ranching now that the moment of truth - or untruth, in their case - was near.

Jones finally turned off the shower and Brand could hear him getting dressed in the clothing he had requested Rose courier over with the rest of the supplies.

The door opened and Jones whipped his wet hair straight back, spraying water across the wall, and gestured to his own outfit with a grin.

"Actually comb your hair," Brand growled, taking in the visual that had seemed like a much better idea in his head than in real life. "You look like a mobster."

"I look like James Bond," Jones countered, which seemed like a gross overstatement regarding a white dress shirt, black pants, suspenders, and a long black tie that was definitely going to need a do-over. Brand had forgotten about shoes, so the running sneakers were back. This was just great. "It's a good look. Did you bring sunglasses too?"

Brand's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If you're having a reaction to the pain meds, so help me God-,"

"I'm not high," Jones' grin did not abate. "We're going back to Riverdale and I'm alive. Come on, Brand, don't you feel-,"

"Why did I give you something I've never seen you on?" Brand ran a hand heavily over his eyes. Was it possible they had been the wrong pills? "I'm an idiot. And you, young man, are going to keep your mouth shut until you're safely in debrief."

"I'm not high, Brand," Jones insisted again. "I'm pretty sure I'm just feeling normal after surviving-,"

"Oh God, your pupils are blown wide open," Brand began digging through his own backpack. "I might actually have a pair of sunglasses, come to think of it."

"Brand, that's great news-,"

"Mouth shut until we're in debrief. I'll get them to keep you in Canada until you come down." Brand shook his head wearily. "You just never give me a break, do you, kid?"

"These are great," Jughead put on the sunglasses and leaned back into the bathroom to see his reflection. "Good work, Brand."

"Comb your hair." Brand folded his arms. Jones was suddenly looking a lot less cute.

**00000**

**Freedom! I hope you have a wonderful holiday (or random Thursday) and that this chapter did not disappoint. We are VERY CLOSE now, and I'll enjoy hearing from you about how it all wraps up. Thanks for reading!**

**-Button**


	15. Chapter 15

**Whew! We are here! (THIS IS THE END!) Thank you for the lovely and encouraging review, Living Lucid Dream. Brand does eventually get with the program, right? I'm glad that his role there came across as heart-warming, in spite of everything that has happened. And finally... some answers. I know how you love those. :)**

**Thank you Guest as well - I am so glad you like the Brand-and-Jughead dynamic. It is scary to think about breaking up the band at this point, right? But then there's FP. It's so complicated! I do think that "High Jughead" is definitely cuter when it is Brand who has to do the corralling - I smiled at how you put that. :)**

**Enjoy!**

**-Button **

**00000**

Fred and FP were stunned when they reached Jameson's street and found the entire block cordoned off by police.

"Oh God," Daniel Carter leapt out of the car when they came to a stop about a block away from the police presence, and everyone in the car was even more stunned when he only made it half a block before several police officers nudged each other and converged on Daniel.

"Let's… stay in the car," Fred managed from the back seat as they watched the police grab and roughly cuff a protesting Daniel.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Alice exited the back door across from Fred and ran toward the police who were accosting her father.

"Do you think this could actually involve Brandon?" FP asked, seemingly at a loss as they took in the sheer scale of the roadblock and the personnel they could see beyond that. "Should we turn around and regroup?"

Alice had started berating the officers. Two brought Daniel toward a cruiser while a third turned to deal with the angry teen.

"This doesn't look promising," Fred sighed. "We should probably find out what's going on, though. I'll go ask; I don't have anything worse than an ancient DUI on my record, and we're far enough away that I don't think it's clear that Daniel was in the car with us."

"Sure," FP's tone was edgy but he also wanted to learn more.

Fred got out of the car slowly and walked toward the police blocking off the street in as non-threatening a manner as he could manage. "Excuse me, sir?"

"You're going to want to stop right there." The police officer who had been speaking to Alice firmly held a hand up toward Fred. "We've got a situation and have just apprehended a suspect. Turn around-,"

"We're looking for a missing teenager," Fred held his hands up in a gesture of acquiescence, hoping this would help him get at least a little information. "He's American; we thought he might be in this neighborhood. We can leave, but do you know when we might be able to come back and look for him?"

"You from Riverdale?"

Fred's jaw dropped. "Um, yes. As a matter of fact we are. Why?"

"We were told you would arrive in a day or two, but we can work with this. Stay here. If you want to go with Wilson, he'll help get you through this mess after he's finished." The officer pointed to one of the arresting officers with Carter. "Agent Davies should be coming out soon, so you won't have long to wait."

Fred gestured insistently to FP, who quickly got out of the car.

"_Agent_ Davies?" Fred asked curiously.

"Apparently it's all been very top secret, but it's certainly blown wide open now," The officer shrugged. "The press is here, if you can believe that. But the bust was successful; since you've arrived early we can start getting everyone on their way."

"When you say everyone…" FP interjected as he walked up.

"As I said to your friend here, Wilson will take you to meet Jonas when he's done. It shouldn't take long."

"Uh-huh," FP's eyes narrowed, but he merely nodded and Fred was extremely impressed when he left it at that. They waited patiently, in silence, and then followed Wilson without further comment.

This seemed too good to be true. They were tacitly united in one thing at least: neither of them wanted to say anything that might screw this up.

**00000**

"In breaking news, the formerly classified-,"

"If you've been following this story, you already know-,"

"-unprecedented cooperation between agencies-"

"Brandon and Jonas Davies have now confirmed that they made history this morning: the bust was successful, and both are expected-,"

Fred and FP exchanged a worried look as they passed that last reporter.

They were brought past the ring of reporters to a crowd of people in a variety of uniforms, from various law enforcement entities to medical personnel and an ambulance, all assembled in color-coordinated cliques behind a semi-circular barrier outside an impressive mansion. Wilson ushered them over to a van that rode very low, like it carried a lot of cargo. There seemed to be only law enforcement in this ring, and the press were quite a distance behind them at this point.

"You made fantastic time!" The American FBI had people here too, if this man's jacket was to be believed. "We haven't even been here for half an hour."

"We weren't far away," FP replied smoothly before waiting expectantly.

That was smart, Fred thought. They'd get any available information before saying anything about themselves.

"I'm sure you're real glad to be seeing the end of this." Another man in an FBI jacket shot them a sympathetic look.

"You have no idea," Fred agreed fervently.

"And there they are."

Fred and FP were forgotten as a flurry of action began around two SUVs that were pulled up close to the building everyone seemed focused on.

The door to the mansion opened and Brand stepped out. He took a quick, assessing look at the situation before pulling the door further open and revealing that Jughead was right behind him.

He was alive. Just like that, Jughead was only a few hundred yards away from them.

Brandon looked even more rugged than usual, no doubt due to whatever he'd been doing in the mansion, but Jughead actually looked like he'd just gotten out of the shower. His hair was longer. He looked taller, older. Or maybe that was just the outfit, which looked for all the world like it had just come out of store packaging. The incongruous sneakers and _Top Gun_ sunglasses suggested that some things might not have changed, though.

Fred didn't notice until it was almost too late that FP had lunged forward. He managed to grab his friend roughly. "Wait! For goodness' sake, don't get yourself arrested _now_!"

FP didn't respond, but he seemed to be listening to reason since he stopped moving forward. His eyes never left Jughead.

**00000**

"Mouth shut," Brand said quietly as he ushered Jones out of the house. "Not a word."

"I heard you the first fifty times, Brand."

Inhibitions were thankfully just lowered - not eliminated - but Brand had a feeling that turning over a teenager in any sort of drugged state wasn't going to win him points.

"And yet you're still talking," Brand smiled soberly for the cameras that were no doubt trained on them from the press down the street, as well as the law enforcement cameras he could see, and swiftly guided Jones toward the first SUV.

"Excuse me, Agent Davies."

Brand would have to get used to that.

A man in an FBI jacket was approaching them on the steps of the mansion. "Jonas will be in the other vehicle. He'll be debriefing in the US; we've made arrangements."

"We'll be sticking together for now," Brand tried to channel every ounce of professionalism and law-enforcement arrogance he could muster. "In just one vehicle."

The FBI agent sized him up, and Brand returned the favor: the man was not even attempting to hide that he didn't like him and didn't trust him. At a glance, Brand suspected that the agent had his own reasons for wanting to follow the original plan of splitting the two up immediately for separate debriefings.

Even if he hadn't accidentally given Jones less licit painkillers than he'd intended, Brand wouldn't have wanted this guy anywhere near the teenager.

Whatever the agent saw in Brand, it caused him to change tacks immediately and address Jones instead, in an overly friendly voice. "Hey, kid, you want to get home quicker, right? What do _you _say about getting the debrief rolling right away?"

Jones did not respond.

Crap - it was really going to look bad if he had to coach the kid into speaking at this point.

"Jonas?" The FBI agent looked perplexed now and took a step forward. His hand came up toward Jones' shoulder.

Brand stepped in front of the agent and noticed that even as he did so, Jones had started moving as well - to get behind Brand. "Don't touch him."

The FBI agent looked from Brand to Jones, who was now a pace behind Brand and still maintaining his silence.

"You're going to want to back off." Another man joined them on the steps now. "He's the guardian."

Ahhh, this must be one of Rose's guys.

"Are you serious?" The FBI agent snorted.

"Are you asking if I'm _serious_ about that being the legal reality, or whether I'm _seriously_ going to ask you to respect that until the paperwork is officially updated?"

"I guess you are." The FBI agent was very angry now.

"Let's discuss this where we're not in full view of the international press," Rose's guy smiled tightly at the FBI agent. "But yes, until further notice we've all been asked to honor the agency's… legend. You'll find everything was filed properly and in good order, irrespective of whether it should have been filed in the first place."

Brand reached a hand behind his back to give a "cool it" gesture to Jones, whom he could sense getting excited. This was news to Brand, and just the sort of information that would tempt the kid to say something inane.

"Wait, so my name is actually-,"

Like that.

"Jonas," Brand turned to his ward. His actual legal ward, it seemed, at least for the moment. "Let the men do their jobs. We'll be switching everything back as soon as we can."

"Just one vehicle, coming right up." The FBI agent opened the SUV door for them, his face an angry mask and his tone deeply sarcastic.

First gauntlet down.

Brand followed Jones into the back of the SUV and the door closed behind them. The kid had already been coached on not saying a word to break their cover story in vehicles - or any other location - unless Brand began the conversation in a specific manner.

"They were going to split us up fast," Jones observed, staring out the darkly tinted window on the far side of the backseat. He was about as far away from Brand as he could get, and it seemed like he might be starting to come down from the pain meds - or else he was starting to get anxious about the prospect of leaving Brand.

"Yep," Brand hadn't thought too much about the whiplash that would represent for Jones. For both of them. "You'll be back in the States by the end of the day unless they decide to wait for someone to come and pick you up."

Jones nodded.

"Be careful with that FBI agent."

"Yeah, I got that," Jones snorted. "He _really_ doesn't like you. And he thinks I'm, like, fourteen."

"You're not much older than that."

"Apparently I legally just turned nineteen," Jones cracked a small smile, finally turning away from the window to face Brand. "Got any scotch in that backpack?"

"Very funny," Brand hadn't expected the falsified documents to be rubber stamped and back-dated, but in hindsight that seemed like a logical step for Rose to take. It solved a few of the trickier problems for their new legend.

Their SUV still lacked a driver, which probably made sense what with the jam of people all up and down the street. They probably had to get clearance from someone since they'd changed the plan, too.

"So… When _will_ I see you again?" Jones swiped a hand suspiciously close to his sunglasses and his voice shook ever so slightly.

He probably _was_ getting cold feet now that everything was happening so quickly. Considering Brand had single-handedly kept Jones alive for a while now, and even Brand wasn't sure what Jones could expect for living conditions once he got back to Riverdale, he could understand it setting off all of his instincts for self-preservation.

"I don't know, kid," Brand was truthful. "If you're ever up this way, you've got your room. I'll mail the books and stuff to you once you've got an address, but I'll keep the closet the way you like it-," Jones snorted at that, "and you can always crash there if you go to college in Toronto. Deal?"

Jones frowned. "What are you talking about? That's in like _two years_."

"After you're eighteen," Brand said gently. Had Jones somehow gotten the idea that they'd both go back to Riverdale and pick up where they'd left off, sans criminal activity? Brand couldn't be sure, but it was obvious that two years of radio silence hadn't been quite what the kid expected. "That's always been the goal, so let's get you there and figure out the rest later, huh?"

Jones didn't answer, and went back to staring out the window. Then he leaned forward, as if something had caught his eye. "Hey, uh, Brand?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that my dad over there?"

Crap. No wonder the SUV hadn't moved. Insisting on one vehicle had apparently been a very bad idea.

"Could be. That's kind of a long story." Brand figured there would be months of therapy once the kid heard the whole of it. "But real quickly - remember how I'm your godfather?"

"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" Jones removed his sunglasses to reveal an expression of fascination and horror.

"You have no idea," Brand smirked. "So I'm an undercover international intelligence agent with some orders I don't like, right?"

"Riiiiight," Jones acknowledged the lie they'd agreed to uphold from then on.

"I have to go rogue to do some things I think are best in a bad situation. To protect the innocent." Brand waited a beat. "That's you."

Jughead rolled his eyes. "I'm with you so far."

"So. About that 'bad situation.' You remember how it involved FP?"

"Is he going to beat you to a pulp when he gets over here?" People kept stopping FP - and look, there was Fred Andrews as well - but they were not going to get much more of a reprieve at this rate.

"Do you want him to?" Brand smirked again. "I can let him get a few shots in if you like. Let me finish the story, though. You really ought to hear this from me - since you're going to hear a whole lot of versions of this later."

Brand had filled Jones in before. Mostly.

Now he filled in a few gaps that would hopefully smooth things once FP got into the vehicle and no doubt had some… grievances to air.

"So you are technically my guardian because the paperwork went through, even though my dad never _actually_ made you my godfather, and you were sending photos - wait, wasn't I smiling in some of those? Brand, you really suck at this - to make it _seem_ like I was being held hostage, all to stay undercover and pretend you were still helping Blossom blackmail my dad..."

Brand nodded encouragingly; it was probably helpful to get this dress rehearsal in, even if their conversation was being monitored in the SUV.

Jones took a deep breath to finish his summary. "But then you grew a conscience because I was just 'so darn _lovable'_-" Brand's words exactly, complete with sarcastic inflection "-and went rogue by abandoning all of the orders that wanted you to infiltrate the international drug trade, except for, uh, the Toronto bust-,"

Jones was having a hard time squaring that part of the legend with the rest since it made a lot less sense without the Roses to connect the Riverdale dealings with Toronto. Brand sympathized, but there was no way Rose's name could be brought into any of this. Ever.

"-because Joe came after me… And you never told my dad any of this, because danger."

Brand raised an eyebrow in disapproval of his grammar, but had to admit that was the gist of the story.

"And now FP's out of prison because Blossom panicked and committed suicide - which _he _did because you left town and enrolled me into your one-man program of rogue-special-agent witness protection."

Brand kind of liked the sound of a 'rogue-special-agent witness protection' program. He tried not to be distracted, though. It was important to confirm that Jones had the whole story straight before FP joined them in the vehicle.

"A program which I don't need now, because I'll be protected by my own infamy from this record-breaking crime syndicate bust," Jones pointed at Jameson's house.

The kid had a knack. That had all come out firmly within the realm of the new legend they were living. While he was still somewhat high on mystery painkillers, no less.

"I think you've got it. Except it's both your infamy _and_ law enforcement that will make sure you're protected - and your family, friends, and all." Jones nodded, seeming to understand Brand's reminder of what had been said in the mansion: when Jones first agreed to take the deal it was only after Brand had explained that Rose would ensure that there was no further danger to his friends and family.

"Don't worry, though; along with being banned from undercover work until the end of time, I'll be _severely_ reprimanded for not letting you die in Riverdale to preserve the mission," Brand almost reached over to playfully jostle Jones' shoulder before he recalled the kid's injuries.

"That makes me feel so much better," Jones smirked in response.

Apparently they were still - at least somewhat - cool. Brand found that he was both surprised and unsurprised by that. It had to be shocking information for Jones to hear that he'd originally been a hostage in his father's murder trial (Roy probably owed Brand a lot more money on that original bet), but he actually seemed more pensive about his father's innocence than about Brand's role in that whole endeavor. Of course, Jones had already known that Brand took on a variety of criminal jobs - and they'd been through a lot together since then. Not to mention Jones was quite literally feeling no pain, which probably helped it all to seem less horrifying than fascinating.

But even knowing full well that the teen was experiencing an intense rush of gratitude and emotion after his harrowing night and dramatic rescue - admittedly potent forces for bonding the kid to him as they navigated their last fight together in Toronto - Brand was entirely unprepared for Jones' next comment:

"Brand… it's a _really_ good thing that Blossom hired you and not someone else. Just think what could have happened."

Jones seemed to be taking a moment to review his mental tapes of their adventures, and Brand wondered if he was picturing someone meaner or someone who was less able to protect him. Kid had a point; maybe it had been a lucky break for both of them.

Second gauntlet down.

"Although if that's… then, wait... Brand. You're not _actually_ my godfather." Likely due to his drugged state, Jones was only just putting that together meaningfully. He suddenly looked worried again.

"I wouldn't go that far, kid," Brand saw his expression and this time he did reach over and gently ruffled his hair. "You're officially a Davies now, remember? You won't be rid of me that easily."

When the SUV door finally opened, Jughead had the sunglasses back on and had moved to the middle of the bench seat so that Brand could drape an arm over him in a light embrace - one that communicated both goodbye and a promise.

**00000**

**Epilogue:**

True confessions time: I suddenly realized that any epilogue would be the start of a new story (yes, a "Threequel," Living Lucid Dream!).

So... check out "Debrief Is A Verb," story three in the series, for FP's epilogue to this story (poor dude got woefully short shrift here, right?). You'll see very clearly where the new story picks up speed (POV change, etc.) and you can decide whether you're up for taking on that one as well. Enjoy! Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts now that we've officially arrived. :)

-Button

**00000**


End file.
